


Crimson Ingot

by CatWinchester



Category: Crimson Peak (2015), Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Haunted House, ghost story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-10-15
Packaged: 2018-03-12 19:43:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 42,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3353045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatWinchester/pseuds/CatWinchester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crimson Peak had been restored and is opening as a holiday destination. Katherine (Kate) Blunt is a travel writer who is reviewing the place, but she’d plagued by bad dreams and ghostly apparitions.</p><p>As things progress, it seems that she has been singled out for something, but what? And is the ghost, who seemingly follows her every move, there to harm her, or help her? Is she losing her mind, or is Crimson Peak really home to evils Kate has never dreamed of?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Untitled for now, if you have any suggestions, they will be gratefully received.
> 
> I really don’t have time to write this but the trailer, in which Thomas Sharpe doesn’t appear to be the primary antagonist (if at all), neatly dovetailed with this idea I’d been playing with, and once I got home last night, I couldn’t stop writing this. I literally stayed up until 5am.
> 
> I’m setting this in the 1890s because from what I know of the Victorian era (which to be honest, is a fair bit) everything, from the dresses, suits and nightdresses, to the plumbing and the lift/elevator, seem to fit that decade best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note, this was story written before the film was released, based on the trailers, so it can now be considered an AU fic.

**Chapter One**

Crimson Peak was an imposing house, gothic in style and slightly spooky in appearance, but undeniably lovely.

Which is why this stupid feeling of disquiet I felt annoyed me.

Since I’d arrived, I would swear I’d glimpse someone behind me in a mirror but when I turned, there was usually no one there. It really wasn’t like me and I felt like a child with an overactive imagination.

So as I surveyed the ballroom, I didn’t even bother to look to see if the dark haired man was really behind me or not. I didn’t even look at his figure in the mirror, in the hopes that if I ignored these figments of my imagination, they would disappear altogether.

Besides, I was too busy taking notes to worry about ghostly apparitions.

Yes, I was. I was not going to look.

It was just a foolish, fanciful notion anyway, probably caused by the gothic style of the house or something. Or maybe I was sleep deprived or something. I had been having odd dreams the last two nights, which had disturbed my sleep. Wait, couldn’t caffeine cause hallucinations? Yes, I was pretty sure it could.

Maybe I’d better switch to decaf, no matter how tired I felt.

I felt better at that realisation.

Then I looked at him and my rationalisations fled. Someone was there, standing a little to the right of the fireplace.

It was probably just an employee getting ready for the ball this weekend or something.

I whirled around to look and my heart stopped as I realised no one was there. You’d think I wold be used to the sensation but now, but it never failed to give me that slight feeling of vertigo, as if I was about to drop into an abyss.

“Katherine?”

I turned to Benjamin Wright, who had overseen the restoration and was giving me the tour.

“Sorry.” I pushed my disquiet down as I turned to face him. “I thought I saw someone.”

“Yes, well, they do say this place is haunted,” he smiled at me.

“They do?” It was the first I’d heard of it.

“Oh yes. It’s all nonsense of course, just old stories told to explain what happened to the last family that lived here.”

“What did happen to them?” I asked, trying not to sound too eager, and reminding myself that I _did not_ believe in ghosts.

“No one knows,” he smiled. “One day, they were just… gone. All except Edith Sharpe, who told fanciful tales of evil demons, demonic ghosts and possessions. She was put into a looney bin for a while, but they released her when she came back to her senses.”

“When was this?” I asked.

“Oh, over a hundred years ago.”

“No one’s lived here since then?”

“No, a trust had been set up to keep the house operational, with varying degrees of success and when the money eventually ran out, they had no choice but to sell it.”

“No one inherited it?”

“No one knew what had happened to the Sharpes. For a long time it was kept in the hopes that they would return but when they were declared legally dead, no living relatives could be found.”

“And the Sharpes never came back?”

“No. Locals have been inventing stories about this house ever since, spurred on by Edith’s insanity, no doubt. In fact, coming here was something of a right of passage for local boys. A few boys came away with tales of hideous creatures and ghostly apparitions, but all no doubt to make themselves seem braver. I never saw anything here, not when I was a child and not now.”

“You’re local?”

“I was, I grew up in these parts. That’s partly why my firm was hired, because I already had a passing familiarity with the place.”

“And none of the workmen reported seeing ghosts?”

“Some,” he shook his head, as if the idea was derisory. “But a lot of them were locals, who were raised with the stories about this place. An imagination can be a magical thing, unless it’s left to run rampant, then it can be a hindrance.”

“Did it hinder your work here?” I asked, trying to sound like this was a professional question.

“Somewhat. We had a few people quit on us, but very few overall.” Now, would you like to see the kitchens?”

“What? Oh, uh, yes, please.”

“Right this way.”

He headed for a set of double doors and as I followed him, I looked to the mirror once more.

He was still staring at me. I wished I could make out his features.

***

The house was gorgeous, not only fully restored but also remaining faithful to the original period details, salvaging what they could and recreating what they couldn’t.

Frankly, I was amazed at how good a job they had done, and didn’t even want to consider the cost, even if it wasn’t my investment.

Of course, it was intended to be a moneymaking venture, with the building divided up into individual apartments which could be let. The ballroom lent itself to large scale entertaining and the house itself, along with the scenic location, just screamed wedding venue. I expected they would be very popular… but way out of my league.

I was only here thanks to my job, as a freelance travel reporter. The consortium who now owned the house had given me two weeks free, so that I could get the full tourist experience, including local amenities.

In return, I had managed to sell the story to Hearth and Home magazine, a British magazine that liked to profile grand country houses and hidden gems. My review (which had a slightly different focus to the article) would also appear on my travel blog, Great Escapes, which had over 30,000 hits a month and I expected I’d be able to sell the article to foreign markets too, as an interest piece if nothing else. For obvious reasons, they expected most of their clientele to be from the UK, but they were very open to hosting events for wealthy foreigners as well.

I was typing up my notes from this afternoon when the lights flickered and my heart fluttered.

Benjamin had told me that all the electrics were brand new, so I panicked, standing up so quickly that my chair fell. In the windows, visible in the flickering lights reflected off them, I could see my ghostly apparition, standing just behind me, close enough to touch.

I spun around but nothing was there.

Every muscle in my body was tensed, ready to fight, even if I didn’t know how to fight a ghost.

After a few moments, the lights held steady and when I glanced back at the windows, the apparition was gone.

“You’re losing it, Kate,” I muttered, trying to calm my racing heart with logic. “If you keep this up, you’ll have to become a fiction writer, which would really suck since you can't make up a believable story to save your life… And now I'm talking to myself. Great.”

I was actually trembling slightly, so I shook my arms and legs out, a little like I might do after a workout, and took deep breaths.

It didn’t help much.

I needed a drink so I grabbed my bag and headed to the bar. Since we’re about five miles from the nearest town, the developers had thought to include a bar and restaurant in some of the public rooms downstairs, both for guests to take advantage of, and for locals to dine at.

I sat at the bar and ordered a triple Tia Maria over ice, taking first a gulp, then sipping the rest. I’m not a big drinker, so even three small measures had an effect relatively quickly, and I could feel my skin flushing as I finally warmed up.

Suddenly I realised that I’d hardly been warm since I’d arrived here. I put it down to the house being old and draughty, with high ceilings, and it being autumn but maybe it was more than that.

Wasn’t the cold linked to gho-

I cut that thought off before I could complete it but I still shivered, and not from cold that time.

I hadn’t stocked my self-catering kitchen with anything other than basics since I’d arrived, bread for sandwiches, eggs for an evening omelette, potatoes for baking and fillings for all three, so I hadn’t thought to get any alcohol in. As such, I bought a bottle of Tia Maria from the bar, which cost three times what it would in a shop, and carried it back to my room to act as my liquid valium.

I finally felt relaxed and I decided to take a bath. The bathroom was lovely, decorated in teal and white, with a free standing claw tub and a circular window above the bath. It even had one of those old, free standing privacy screens, the concertinaed ones. The initial flush from the alcohol was wearing off now, so I ran the water extra hot, determined to get warm for once.

I was down to my underwear when a huge crash sounded from somewhere in my apartment. My hands shook as I reached for my dressing gown and tied it tightly around me.

I turned the water off then ventured out slowly, wary of what new frights awaited me, looking into each room until I discovered the cause in the kitchen. My Tia Maria lay smashed on the floor.

Relief flooded me as I began to clear it up, and chiding myself for not being more careful with the bottle. But had I really left it balancing on the edge of the counter? I thought I remembered placing it further back but… maybe I had knocked it as I turned away or something, and failed to notice it move to a precarious position.

It took forever to clear up and I cut my big toe on the glass and although not bad or deep, it pissed me off. I hopped over to the side and held a sheet of kitchen paper against it, pressing firmly. When I removed the paper to examine the wound, a drop of blood fell to the floor and at that instant, the lights went out.

I screamed, terrified of what was happening. Or what might be happening. What was happening?

With a few flickers, the lights came back on a few moments later and I chided myself at being so scared all the time.

I admit, I considered leaving but I am a reasonable, rational 28 year old woman, and I was damned if an overactive imagination was going to drive me away. Not only did I have deadlines to meet, if I didn’t do this article, I would not only lost that fee, I would damage my reputation. No freelancer can afford that.

Once the bleeding had almost stopped, I hobbled, toe wrapped up in paper, out of the kitchen and found some shoes, then continued the clear up.

When I went to mop the blood up though, I couldn’t see it. I knew at least one drop had fallen on the tiles, but I was damned if I could find it.

I was tired by the time I was finished and, desperate to relax and unwind in my bath, I headed back there. I tested the water to see how tepid it had become, only to discover it was ice cold.

I trembled but told myself that like the lights, maybe the water heater wasn’t good and maybe there hadn’t actually been any hot water to begin with.

I emptied the water and refilled the bath only with hot water, my spirits plummeting when I discovered that the water was piping hot.

Maybe I had added more cold that I though before? That had to be it.

With the water hot enough to sting, I resumed undressing, until I saw what looked like movement in the mirror. My mysterious ghost wasn’t visible when I looked, but I still erected the privacy screen around the tub.

My bath was about as uncomfortable as it was possible to feel and the water cooled far too rapidly for my tastes, so I soon got out quickly and dried off.

I usually sleep naked but given how cold I had been last night, I dressed in underwear, leggins and a sweatshirt. I even put socks on. All to help ward off the chill, nothing to do with the annoying and pervasive thought that maybe, I might have to run in the middle of the night.

***

“Will you be mine?” he asked, and I slipped my hand into his, allowing him to lead me onto the dance floor. He was so handsome, so gentlemanly, so wonderful. Every other man in the room paled in comparison to him.

We danced and danced, despite it being poor etiquette, and my father was displeased with my behaviour.

Thomas seemed to sense that however, and introduced himself to my father, then he expressed his desire to court me, properly. Father was pleased by this and readily agreed, the Sharpes were a highly respected family, after all, even if they were from England.

***

As I lay back in the tub, it never even occurred to me that I was no longer a woman.

I was tired and I lay my head back, closing my eyes for a few moments. It was bliss.

Until a hand pressed around my throat and held me under.

I kicked and thrashed but the hand was too strong, and all I could see of my attacker was a black silhouette. Their hands were large and bony, yet strong, the nails were long, perhaps a woman’s hands. But if that were true, I should be able to fight them off; I might have been getting on in years but I was still fit and virile. Alas, my vitality wasn’t enough to save me and I quickly grew tired, my vision darkening at the edges.

Once I went limp, the water above me stilled slightly, no longer agitated by my struggle, and I saw something inhuman, demonic… something evil.

‘Edith!’ I thought in my final moments, as my vision faded to black.

***

I say up in bed, gasping for air, my hands going to my throat as a reflex.

It was a dream, nothing more, the product of my fevered imagination no doubt. That thought didn’t stop me from gulping in lungfuls of sweet, cool air.

Slowly my breathing calmed and I looked to the window to see that it was dawn, just light enough outside for the horizon to be turning light blue.

Far too early. I am not a natural morning person and these nightmares were starting to take their toll on me.

With a sigh, I got up and went about my morning ablutions while my coffee brewed in the kitchen, then as I went to the fridge to get milk, I saw him again, reflected in the chrome surface. He looked to be standing about five feet behind me but I didn’t turn around this time.

“What do you want?” I asked him, focusing on his reflection. I think I had run out of adrenalin because I was nowhere near as scared as I had been when I saw him.

Although it was hard to tell in the slightly uneven surface, I thought his lips moved, but I couldn’t hear any words.

“I can't hear you,” I said. “Nod your head for yes and shake for no. Can you do that?”

He nodded.

“Why are you doing this to me?”

He didn’t move and I realised how dumb the question was.

“Do you want to harm me?”

He shook his head.

“Are you a ghost?”

Nothing. Maybe I was hallucinating this whole thing and my imagination couldn’t decide what I wanted him to be.

“Did you die here?”

Again, neither an affirmative nor a negative. It was too early in the morning to have existential talks with ethereal beings. I hadn’t even had my coffee yet!

“Does something here wish me harm?”

He nodded, and I felt a chill run down my spine.

“Did you break my bottle last night?”

He nodded again.

“Why?”

No reply. Then again, did I really need to know why a ghost wanted to control my drinking habits?

“Are there ghosts here?”

A vigorous nod this time.

“Lots of ghosts?”

More nodding.

“And other things?”

He stepped closer as he nodded this time.

“What are you here for?” I whispered, it was a rhetorical question as I searched for the right questions to ask. “Are you-”

I stopped talking as he began to struggle with something and I only just managed to override my instincts and not to turn around, (because I knew I wouldn’t see him if I did). Just before he faded from sight, like a puff of smoke, I could swear a saw a hand I was familiar with, the huge, twisted hand that had held me under water in my dream.

“Fuck!” I cried.

Grabbing my bag and coat, I left the apartment, unable to stay here a minute longer.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

I walked around the perimeter of the house until the restaurant opened, serving breakfast to the guests who wanted it. I was the first in and I ordered a coffee, which I nursed until the hot food came out.

Having missed dinner last night, I heaped my plate high, ignoring everyone else as they came in. I was too preoccupied with what was happening to mind the social niceties.

I decided to head into town and see what I could find out about the history of the house, and the family. I wished I’d thought to ask my ghost if he was a member of the family.

I left at 8.45 and was waiting on the steps of the small library when it opened at 9am. I’d seen this place while shopping for groceries and thought that would be a good place to start.

“Someone’s keen,” the librarian smiled at me.

I smiled back. “I’m hoping you can help me with something,” I admitted.

“Come on in and we’ll see.”

I followed her as she headed back to the desk.

“I’m writing an article on the renovated Crimson Peak and I wondered if the library had any details about the history of the house and its residents, or if you can point me to someone who does.”

“You’ve come to the right place,” she assured me. “We scanned in all our newspaper archives about a year ago, so I’ll set you up with the database.”

She led me to a computer, opened the program and told me how to search.

“Everything’s tagged by names, places, dates and any events in the articles,” she explained. “If I recall my ghost stories correctly, the names you want are Sharpe, Cushing and McMichael.”

“Do you believe in ghosts?” I felt compelled to ask her.

“I don’t rightly know,” she admitted. “All I do know is that when I was dared to go there as a child, I felt awful for days afterward. I never went back.”

“You didn’t see anything?”

“No, the place was all boarded up, so all I had was a torch light and I never got further than the front hallway. Are you staying there?” she asked me.

“Yes.” I wondered if she could see the fear in my eyes.

“You be careful,” she told me. “Halloween is less than a week away now, and people always say that house gets worse around then.”

Oh fantastic! I hadn’t even thought that Halloween was soon; it’s not like I go trick or treating or anything. But that was supposed to be the time when the dead could cross over, no?

Shit!

“Well, thank you.”

She smiled sympathetically at me. “Just click here if you want to print anything, its ten pence a sheet.”

She left me and I began my search through the archives, printing off every reference to them that I could find. I would read and sort them into date order later. Right now I didn’t need to scare myself any more than necessary.

***

I sat in a small café, sipping a latte and sorting the articles into order of their dates. Once done, I could delay no longer and began to read the contents.

Records went back to the 1840s and there were only sparse references in the papers from the first few decades. A Lady Sharpe, a grandmother had died of old age, a young man announced his engagement, an advert for a ladies maid, Aanother three deaths, all servants at the house and all from the same illness. I doubted the deaths of individual maids would be noted in the paper, other than possibly an obituary, but three was probably noteworthy in a small parish. A birth announcement, then a second birth announcement. Another death, another Lady Sharpe, this time just a young woman though, not a grandmother, rather mother to the two children. She died of… causes unknown?

What could have killed a young mother and not leave any signs? I checked the birth announcement, just to be sure, but the last child was born a year prior and besides, childbirth was a common cause of death among women back then so had that been the cause, it was unlikely to be listed as ‘unknown’.

Even to primitive Victorian medicine, most forms of death would leave a sign. A fall would leave injuries, an attack would show violence, an illness would have a fever and possibly other symptoms. Perhaps something like a stroke or an aneurism? Did they autopsy bodies then and if so, did they even know to look for a bleed or clot in the brain?

Speculating was pointless without more information so I moved on. Perhaps the local court would have a record of her inquest, which might hold clues that modern medicine could identify.

There were more deaths, mainly among the servants, and lots of accidental deaths, it seemed. There were five advertisements for governess’s, which seemed awfully high, and then the death or Lord Sharpe, husband of the Lady Sharpe who had died from causes unknown.

I turned to the next page and the hairs on my arms stood up.

‘THE MARRIAGE OF SIR THOMAS SHARPE TO MISS EDITH CUSHING.’ Was the headline of the paragraph. Edith was from Buffalo, New York, according to the announcement.

Sharpe and Cushing, those were the names the librarian said to look for.

I turned to the next print out.

‘MR CARTER CUSHING DROWNS IN BATHTUB, INQUEST RULES ACCIDENTAL’

My hand went to my neck. Accidental my arse!

It had happened only a few weeks after the wedding announcement, poor Edith had lost her father to that… thing. No wonder she went mad… or had she? Had she been telling the truth about ghosts? Or was I succumbing to the same insanity she did?

I turned to the next article.

‘EDITH SHARPE FOUND WANTERING AFTER DARK AS FAMILY GOES MISSING’

Edith had been discovered, in her night gown, walking towards the town. She was bloody and battered, clutching a knife in her hand, but when authorities returned to the house, it was empty. The fires were burning, there was a still warm pot of tea found and some signs that a struggle might have occurred, but no family, no servants, no bodies, nothing.

I moved on to the next articles and discovered that the prevalent speculation was that Edith had lost her mind after seeing her family slaughtered. No one knew who had slaughtered the family or how they had removed the bodies so quickly, nor where they had dumped the bodies, but everyone had a theory.

Once Edith was released from the mental institution, even she couldn’t elaborate on what had occurred that night, with the doctors speculating that her mind had hidden events from her, first with false memories, then with amnesia.

I suspected she had been telling the truth from day one.

There were a few more articles, written over the intervening century, but most were just speculation. Only one was useful; written in the 1960s, the author had gained access to Edith’s records from the mental institution and included some excerpts.

Edith claimed that Thomas had married her under false pretences, and that his sister, Lucille was demonic, and she and the house were connected somehow, and that the house was alive.

Ghosts I could just about believe, although that was a recent conversion. Demons… eh, after the last few days, why not? A living house though, well that did sound insane.

I turned to the next article, which actually included a picture of Sir and Lady Sharpe on their wedding day. Being a printout of a scanned article with a copy of a photograph, it wasn’t a great image but it was clear enough to make out his main features. Was he my ghost?

The phantom following me had dark hair and Victorian garb, but his features were never clear, as if he was varying degrees out of focus. I thought they were probably the same person though.

I wondered what the false pretences Thomas Sharpe had used to marry her were, and what his real motivation was. He said he didn’t want to harm me, but could I trust him?

There was no more information in the articles, so I packed up and returned to the library. I had my laptop back at the hotel but I wasn’t ready to go back there yet. Back on the computers, I opened Google and began researching ghosts, hauntings and séances, suddenly wishing that I had watched Most Haunted and the like, because I was worse than a novice at this stuff.

I soon fixated on contacting the dead, because until I knew what was going on, I couldn’t decide how to proceed, but my ghost did seem to want to help me, so perhaps he would explain events to me.

Every article I read from mediums about contacting the dead, said never to try and engage in two way conversation, unless you are a trained medium. Of course, they wanted your money, so they would say that.

I read everything of this with the sceptical eye on a non-believer, which is the mind-set I’d had for 28 years and was hard to break.

I eventually realised that there were no tricks or tips; how can there be when mediums were surely as fake as ghosts were (okay, I was ready to rethink ghosts, but not mediums, I’d seen too many of them exposed. And I wasn’t forgetting that there was a fairly decent chance I could be going crazy). I decided to make my own Ouija board, it seemed as good as anything else.

With that decided, I stopped in at the store and picked up a new bottle of Tia Maria (the strongest liqueur I could stomach neat) and headed back to the house.

As I drove up, the house looked even more imposing than when I had first arrived, almost foreboding.

It was with a heavy heart that I approached my apartment but as I opened the door, everything was quiet.

I stepped inside and looked around, then placed my bag on the hall table, by the door, which is when I noticed a book lying there. It was leather bound and looked not only old but well-worn and I picked it up with trepidation.

The faded title on the spine said _Archidoxes of Magic_. I opened it and looked through the index and although some of the language was odd, I understood enough to find a chapter on communicating with spirits.

The book advised entering a transcendent state through the practice and use of meditation. It sounded like it could be time consuming but I had little else to do, so I might as well try it.

The idea of succeeding was frightening, so I poured myself a glass of Tia Maria, and put the bottle away in a cupboard this time, then as I reached for the glass, it moved away.

“You have got to be kidding me? What are you, a Quaker or something? I need to calm down before I do this, okay!”

I reached for the glass again and this time, it flew off the counter and shattered on the floor.

“Okay, this is getting really fucking old, really fucking quickly, Mr Ghost!”

I looked around for a reflective surface and in the microwave door, I saw him standing behind me. He actually looked sorry.

“Don’t give me that puppy dog look, do you have any idea what alcohol costs these days?” Of course he didn’t, I was just ranting to cover my fear.

“All right, let’s do this. But if I’m too stressed for this to work, I’m blaming you.”

The bedroom was the best place for this but having had so many nightmares, I chose the sofa instead, propping my head up with cushions until I was comfortable. Then I closed my eyes and tried my hardest to clear my mind of everything except my goal.

It felt like I had been lying there forever when I heard a voice.

“Katherine?”

With a gasp, I sat up and saw my ghost standing before me, only I could see him properly now and in the flesh, so to speak, he was stunning. I might almost say beautiful but not in the sense of femininity, more in the sense of artworks, things crafted to be both attractive and compelling,

“What’s going on?” I seemed to be still in my apartment, albeit slightly darker than when I laid down, but there definitely hadn’t been a Victorian gentleman there earlier. How was he managing this?

“You’ve entered a different plane of existence,” he explained.

“I haven’t moved.”

“Your body hasn’t, no, but your mind has.”

I turned so I was sitting on the sofa and placed my head in my hands while I tried to assimilate all this stuff.

“I don’t understand any of this.”

“I know, and I’m sorry.” I looked over to him as he sat beside me, looking around. “We have to be quick, I don’t know how long we’ll have until she realises.”

“She?”

“I don’t know what it is, exactly, only that it wore my sister’s face for many years.”

“What does she want?”

“To be reborn.”

Was that supposed to make sense?

“I don’t understand.”

“I know, but I can't go into details. We don’t have the time.”

“Make the time!” I insisted.

“I can’t. If she finds you here…”

“Then be quick.”

He sighed. “The creature that lived in my sister inhabits the bodies of others and has done since at least when this house was built, 1714. It was constructed using the dark arts to mirror the structure of this realm and capture the souls of the dead, instead of releasing them into the afterlife, and the creature used their power to sustain herself, and give herself more power.”

“So is the house alive?”

“Not exactly, but there are so many souls here now, that it might as well be, they have given the house a life of sorts, to do its mistresses bidding.”

“The creature?”

“Yes.”

“So are you Thomas Sharpe?”

“I am.”

“What happened to you?”

“That is a very long story.”

“Tell me!” I insisted.

“If she catches you here, you will die and she will take over your body, with no need to wait until Samhain to do so.”

“Samhain?”

“All Hallows Eve, when the veil between worlds is at its weakest.”

“She wants my body?”

“Yes. It’s not ideal, she prefers children, but without a pregnant woman in residence, she will make do and once she has a hold in the mortal world, the carnage will begin again.”

“Why me?”

“You were conceived on the first of May, and children conceived then grow up to wield great power and knowledge, and are said to be healthier than any other.”

“How do you know when I was conceived?”

“I don’t, but she can tell.”

“Then I’ll leave.”

“When you bled, the house got a taste of you. You can leave, but she can summon you back.”

“How do you know?”

“Because she could do it to me,” he admitted.

“I still don’t understand all this. How can I see you? I don’t even believe in the supernatural.”

“You have power, Katherine, due to your conception, and that power gives you some latent psychic ability and allows you to see me.”

This was all so confusing and I didn’t know what to ask next.

“Aren’t you a good judge of character?

I nodded.

“And hasn’t your intuition always served you well?” he asked.

I nodded.

“Your power, the slight psychic impressions you got from people and the universe, is why.”

“So… what happens now?”

“Lucille will take your body on the October 31st, unless you can stop her first.”

“How do I do that?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, looking over his shoulder.

“How did you stop her last time?”

He turned back.

“I managed to trap us both here, in the spiritual plane, and allow Edith a chance to escape.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. We both fell from the balcony, and we ended up here. Lucille died soon after, leaving only the creature that inhabited her body alive.”

“How do you know she wasn’t your sister?”

“Because my true sister’s soul resides here also. She is trapped like everyone else.”

“Okay, but if there’s two hundred and fifty years of dead people here, why are you the only one I can see?”

“Because I’m not dead.”

“You’re still alive?”

He nodded.

“How can that be? You’d be like, a hundred and fifty years old or something.”

“Things are different here, we exist outside the universe and time, to us, is just a concept, not a reality.” He got his pocket watch out and showed it to me “It hasn’t moved since I got here, no matter how much I wind it. I move from experience to experience, but I have no way of knowing if a day or a millennium has passed between them. With the approach of Samhain, I can see into your world more easily, and there’s been more to watch since they began renovations, but Time doesn’t pass here, we just… are.”

“Okay, so what about the other ghosts?”

“No one on the mortal plane can see ghosts, no matter how powerful they are. You can sense them sometimes, hear their thoughts, but because they have no physical form, no one can actually see them, not even you. But because I’m alive, sometimes when the veil is thin, you can see me, and I can affect the mortal world to some small degree.”

“But people claim to have seen ghosts here.”

“They see me, trying to frighten them, moving things around, trying to scare them away.”

Moving things reminded me. “Why _do_ you keep breaking my alcohol?”

“Because you need your wits about you if you are to succeed. Drowning the fear with spirits might seem tempting but it doesn’t solve the problem and as Samhain approaches, it makes your mind weaker, makes it easier for her to enter your mind and eventually, force you out. Until then, it will make you more suggestable.”

“Suggestable?”

“Unlike ghosts, Lucille had some sway over the mortal world, especially as Samhain approaches. If she can make you compliant, then things will be easier for her.”

“You mean like hypnotism?”

“Yes, similar.”

He looked over his shoulder. “She’s coming,” he told me. “You must leave _now_.”

“I can't see anything.”

He placed his hand on my forehead and it didn’t touch me, exactly, the contact stripped away my vision of the room we were in and in its place, I saw a dark, dilapidated version, with the walls weeping unnatural fluids. The house almost looked pustulent, and the only light was a kind of unnatural glow with no apparent source, which didn’t help the surroundings to appear any more salubrious.

I could also hear a kind of thudding, almost like an off time heartbeat, which even made the room pulse slightly. It was unnerving.

“How do I get back?”

“You just have to want to wake up.”

“I do want to!” I was getting panicked now.

“Your spirit is here,” he told me. “You need to think about your body, about getting back to it, and then you will wake up.”

I was too frightened to think clearly and the door burst open. There wasn’t much light but whatever was standing there was coal black and grotesque. I screamed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

“How kind of you to bring her to me.” The creature cackled and I thought I glimpsed wickedly sharp, black teeth. The voice was unlike anything I had ever heard before, both smooth and seductive, and yet at the same time, utterly chilling, like the sensation that nails on a chalk board creates.

Thomas stood up, standing between us and although he was no longer touching me, the appearance of the room didn’t revert to my, more comfortable mental picture.

“If you want her, you’ll have to go through me.”

“With pleasure.” Its grin widened.

“You can't kill me,” Thomas reminded the creature. “You are no more real here than the ghosts you have condemned to keep you company.”

“Perhaps not, but I can hurt you, and I can rip her soul out. Perhaps that’s why you brought her here, because you’re lonely. Is that why? Because I can give you an eternity with her spirit, Thomas. Just give me her body. Nobody will know the difference.”

“Never.”

“You will not stop me this time, Thomas. You got lucky last time but at heart, you are weak; you always have been and deep down, you know it.”

“I was weak, that was before I knew the truth.” His voice wavered, as if even he was unsure that he spoke the truth.

The creature cackled and I wondered why it didn’t attack him. Perhaps it couldn’t. Thomas had said that her body died soon after they crossed over, so perhaps its powers were now limited to a psychic assaults, although I had a feeling that it had a lot more in its repertoire than just harsh words.

Suddenly it lunged at Thomas, its gruesome clawed hands passing right through his chest, like a hologram, but making him scream with pain nonetheless and when it removed its hand, he collapsed to the floor, moaning in agony.

And then it looked at me. Fuck!

“I love it when amateurs try to visit my realm, they know so little that they can't get back. That was how I first escaped this prison, you know, when Johann Faust paid me a visit.”

What had Thomas said, try to picture myself in my own body?

She reached for me.

“Wait!” Stall; I have to stall her… it, whatever. “If you knew Faust, did you make a bargain with him?”

I tried to picture myself lying on the sofa. Reclining, safe, happy (until very recently).

“No, there was no bargain, he had nothing to bargain with.”

And that’s when I felt it, my vision blurring slightly as I was pulled back into my own body but just before I left, I saw Thomas launch himself at the creature.

I woke up with a gasp, and sat there, panting for a few moments, waiting for her to reappear in my reality, but she didn’t come.

I padded through to the kitchen and turned the kettle on to make tea.

Just before I left, I’d seen Thomas pass straight through the creature, but this time she was the one who cried out. Evidently, he had learned ways to hurt her too.

How the fuck was I going to stop this thing when I knew nothing about it?

Well, I had a name, Faust. I’d always assumed he was fictional but a quick internet search showed me that he was a real person, although little seemed to be known about his life.

I positioned the laptop on the dining room table, where I could glance up regularly into a large mirror over the fireplace. I didn’t see Thomas for two hours, but eventually his reflection returned, watching over me again.

“Thank you,” I told him, and he nodded.

I couldn’t see his features well any more, but I could remember them. Poor man, trapped there with that monster for eternity. I wished there was something I could do to help him. He seemed to know a lot more about what was going on that I did, so and I wished that he was here so he could really help me.

After two hours of searching, I had little useful information about Faust but if he was the one who had originally freed the creature, maybe discovering how he had freed it would give me insight into who or what the demon was.

Through Google books, I found reference to Faust in a book on Alchemy but only snippets were available to read online and the book was only available in paperback. An Amazon search showed that it was also out of print but if I paid £129 I could get a second hand copy from a book seller with listings on the site.

It was expensive but I needed all the help I could get, so I ordered it to be delivered here. First class was my only delivery option but the estimated delivery date was three to five days’ time. I would just have to hope that the bookseller fulfilled his orders quickly.

I then did a google search for the author or the book, Dr Martin Fellows, and found that he was a lecturer at an American university. His bio said that he specialised in middle aged history and was a direct descendant of Faust.

The site had contact details for him, presumably for the students, and I decided that it couldn’t hurt to contact him.

I made some dinner while I decided on a cover story, then emailed him with something close to the truth. I was researching an old English family, I wrote, and in the course of my research I had discovered reference to Faust in a letter and had been trying to discover where Faust and the Sharpe family might have crossed paths.

I didn’t know if I’d hear anything but I could hope.

Since I had nothing else to try, I settled on the sofa with the book Thomas had left for me.

 _Archidoxes of Magic_ covered science as well as mysticism, which evidently had been considered one and the same back in the 15 th century. I paused only to get drinks but as I was growing tired, I came across a passage on gateways and the more I read, the more I began to wonder if I could bring Thomas back.

The creature, probably a demon of some description from what I was reading, was incorporeal, so if it came through at the same time, would it be able to do any damage? Well, probably, yes, because it intended to possess me, didn’t it? So I’d have to be sure to only bring Tom through.

I read the instructions four times, just to be sure I had read everything correctly. I could do this, it was literally just a matter of drawing a symbol then chanting some Latin phrases while picturing the dimension you wished to open a doorway to.

Putting a finger between the pages, I went back to the table but Thomas wasn’t visible in the mirror.

“Thomas?” I whispered. “Are you here? If you are, please show yourself.”

Nothing happened, so I went into the kitchen to make some tea. It was now gone midnight and I should probably go to bed soon. The thought of the nightmares that awaited me stopped me though and as I sat at the dining room table, sipping my tea, I began to question the whole encounter earlier. It just seemed exceptionally coincidental that he happened to leave me a book that could free him.

Was I being played? Granted, he hadn’t asked me to free him, but master manipulators often don’t ask outright for what they want, they make you think something was your idea all along. The creature was his sister, after all, so maybe he was working with her to free them both.

Hadn’t he married Edith under false pretences? And I still didn’t know the reasons for that, or the whole story. Why had Lucille even wanted Edith? She wanted me for my body but she’d already had a body when Edith came around.

Since Thomas wasn’t around, I decided to sleep on it, hoping I might have more answers in the morning.

Well no, obviously I’d have no more answers, but I might have a stronger opinion about what to do next.

***

“The answer is simple, Thomas, marry a wealthy woman.”

“That is not an answer, Lucille,” I shot back. “There are few women in England who are wealthy enough for our needs.”

“Then we’ll go to America. They have plenty of money but no class, while we have lashings of class but no money. It’s the perfect solution to everyone’s problems.”

I sighed, wondering why this ancient house had to be repaired anyway. “It would be cheaper to knock it down and rebuild,” I said for perhaps the thousandth time. “We have more than enough funds for that, and the new house will not have the flaws that this one does.”

“No!” Lucille stood up, her eyes blazing. “This house is not only our home, it’s our heritage! Bessy Sharpe build this place in 1714 to be a permanent home for the Sharpes, and I will not let you destroy our heritage because it is more convenient.”

She stormed from the room but even if she had stayed, I knew there was no point in arguing with her when she was like this. Still, I had always hoped to marry for love, not money. We weren’t impoverished, we simply didn’t have the massive funds necessary to keep propping up this house. Put simply, this place was a money pit, and I had wanted to knock it down and rebuild ever since our father passed away.

America might be the answer to our problems though, as she suggested. The wealthy there were exceptionally wealthy, and many did seem to be clamouring for the legitimacy that an English title would give their families.

Perhaps while surrounded by so many wealthy families, it might be possible to find love and fortune.

I hoped so.

***

“You’re falling for her.”

I gazed at Lucille with incredulity. “You say that as if it is a bad thing!”

“Love is a myth, Thomas, a fairytale, and nothing good ever came from believing oneself in love.” Her eyes narrowed dangerously.

“You forget, Lucille, if it was not for love, I would have cast you out of my home years ago. Your ways, your reasoning, even your very manner, do not make for a harmonious life. If I did not care for you as much as I do, you would have been left to suffer the injustices of life alone.”

“I am family, Thomas!”

“So it she!” I finally lost my cool, raising my voice to her. “The moment I married her, she became my family, every bit as much as you!”

Lucille raised a hand to strike me but although surprised, I caught it, wondering only vaguely at how she seemed to be almost a match for my strength.

“You told me to marry to save your precious house, and I have done so,” I spoke clearly and concisely, leaving no room for confusion. “Your say over my life ends there, Lucille. You might feel possessive of me, but I am my own man and I am done catering to your whims. Edith is my wife now, and I will build a life that she and our family can be proud of.”

“You’re a fool to choose her over me,” Lucille spat.

“The only unwise decisions I have ever made were at your behest, Lucille. That ends now.”

She gave me a falsely sweet smile and lowered her hand. “If you remain close to her, all that woman will know is misery and suffering, and it will be your fault, Thomas.”

She turned and left.

Given that we have grown up without a mother and with a distant father, I had always tried to understand the slight jealousy Lucille sometimes displayed with me, but as we got older, it was harder and harder to ignore and if I’m honest, more than a little disturbing.

***

For the first time since I got here, I awoke without the usual shocks from a nightmare, but I could still feel the intense feeling of dread that Thomas’ had as his sister walked away.

Maybe Thomas hadn’t seen it, or maybe he hadn’t wanted to, but Lucille looked at him with something other than purely sisterly affection, and that was the source of her jealousy towards Edith.

Although it was still dark out, I knew I wouldn’t get back to sleep, so I got up and headed to the kitchen, turning lights on as I went. As I made my coffee, I pondered the spell from the book, wondering if I should try to bring Thomas back or not.

There was no saying that my dreams were truthful, they could just be what he or Lucille wanted me to see.

But Thomas had been right, I _had_ always been intuitive and a good judge of character, and he seemed truthful to me. I would try to bring him back, I decided, and I read the passage over again as I sipped my coffee.

The lights flickered but not like before, they dimmed gradually, then brightened again, three times. I looked around, fearful that Lucille was back but instead, I caught Thomas’ reflection in the microwave door. He looked perfectly calm, which calmed me down a little.

The lights weren’t erratic as they usually were and I has to ask. “Are you doing this?”

I saw him nod his head then he held his hand up and slowly, the lights slowly dimmed until they went out.

I could no longer see his reflection and I had no idea what the point of this was.

“Thomas?” I whispered.

Suddenly a small light sparked in the next room and I went through to find that a candle had been lit. I didn’t even recall there being any candles in here.

Before I could ponder it further, another light sparked near the apartment door. He’d led me from the kitchen to the lounge to the front door. I opened the door and looked out into the hall. The lights here were also off and at the end of the hallway, another candle flared to life.

It was now blatantly obvious that this was a breadcrumb trail, but did I really want to follow it? What if I was being led into a trap? The house was supposed to be alive, wasn’t it, so what if this was the house guiding me, not Thomas?

Given everything that had happened though, did I really have any choice but to see where this trail led?

I grabbed my keys and closed the door behind me, cautiously making my way to the next candle. As I rounded the corner where the candle was, another one sparked to life in the middle of the corridor. I made my way to it but another one didn’t come to life; surely this wasn’t where he wanted me, there was nothing here?

I hard three soft taps on what sounded like wood, and I looked at the mahogany panelling on the wall. As my eyes adjusted to the dark, I noticed a very slight seam and licking the candle up, I discovered a wooden handle. It was subtle, looking more like a decoration than a door handle and made of the same wood as the panelling but when I turned it, something clicked and I was able to pull the panel open.

I now faced a set of narrow and steep steps, not covered in plush carpeting like the grand main staircases were and I realise these must be the servants stairs, so they could have moved around the house without encountering the family often.

A candle flared to life on the next landing up and, keeping hold of the candle I had picked up, I climbed.

I was staying on the first floor and I climbed two more levels, then another candle by the door told me to open it. Judging by the lack of opulence here, bare floors and no wood panelling, I found myself in what must have been the servant’s quarters, although now they appeared to be used for storage. There was one window at either end of the corridor I was in but there wasn’t enough light outside to help me see.

A candle flared to life midway down and I made my way to another door, this time not cleverly disguised. I opened it and faced another staircase and I knew that the only place it would lead, was to the attic.

The space mirrored the corridor below, long and thin, but there was no window up here. I looked around for a light switch but couldn’t see one and examining the rafters, I could see no light fixture hanging, so the renovations hadn’t extended up here.

It didn’t appear that anyone had been up here in years as the dust was so thick, it was more like a layer of fine dirt. There were trunks and cases stored everywhere, stacked up in a haphazard fashion against the walls and in random piles in the middle of the space.

I had no idea where to begin and just as I felt going back downstairs and returning later with a battery torch, a final candle flared into life, sitting on the top of what looked like a leather trunk. It had three catches holding it closed, as well as a leather strap or belt sewn on and buckled around it.

The leather was as stiff as hell but undid easily enough. The three metal fastenings were a different story and looked as rusty as hell. No amount of pushing or sliding the buttons seemed to work, it was as if the metal had fused into one solid piece.

I picked looked around for something I might be able to use to pry the case open but with only two candles to see by and so much grime covering everything, I was coming up empty.

I put my candle down and moved the one that had been sitting on the trunk, then I tried lifting it. It was only about three feet wide and two high and deep, but it was evidently filled with books or something, as it weighed a ton.

Still, if I couldn’t get in, what other choice did I have? I turned the case onto its end and picked it up by the side handle, now on top. I could just about lift it and managed too manoeuvre it over my shoulder, so my back held most of the weight and I stall had one hand free to carry a candle. Blowing the spare out, I made my way back to the stairs and hesitated as I looked down them. They were narrow and steep, dangerous even if I wasn’t carrying a four stone box on my back.

I considered leaving the candle so that I could cling onto the wall at least, but there was no other light. Then the door at the bottom swung open with a creak and there was just enough ambient light that I could make out the staircase. I blew the candle out, leaving it up here, and carefully made my way down.

On the servants landing I saw that the sun wasn’t up yet, but the sky was much lighter than when I first passed through here. I hoped no one else was awake to see me and wonder why I was pilfering things from the attic.

My right arm was not starting to protest carrying the case, which was digging painfully into my back, but I carefully made my way back down, even although I was tempted to rush.

On my floor, I dropped the case on the carpet and taking one end in my left hand, I dragged the damn thing back to my room.

“It better be the crown fucking jewels in here,” I said, not knowing if Thomas was around to hear me or not.

I manoeuvred the case up onto the table, then stretched out my arms, trying to ease the ache in them.

I got various implements from the kitchen and tried to either open the clasps or pry the lid off but nothing worked. I was a little impressed with the Victorian craftsmanship, but mostly just pissed off that I couldn’t get inside. I’d have to go into town and get a hammer and screwdriver and try to knock the catches off.

Or maybe just some WD40, that stuff seemed to perform miracles.

As I put the knives and other implements away, my mind drifted back to the spell book Thomas had left for me and I decided I’d have to attempt that ritual I had found, then Thomas could do his own heavy lifting.

Nothing in my life to date had prepared me for this but I had to try. I decided to use flour to drawer the symbols since I could sweep it up relatively easily, and I chose the kitchen floor, because it was tiled.

Contrary to Hollywood films, the symbol I drew wasn’t a pentagram or pentacle but instead something called Hecate's circle, which most closely resembled a steering wheel.

I stood in the middle of the circle and began to chant softly, hoping not to drawer attention to myself in the other dimension. As well as the breadcrumbs, I’d seen glimpses of Thomas this morning, so I knew he was around. Did he have any clue what I was doing?

I pictured him in his dimension, breathtakingly beautiful, slightly dangerous and utterly compelling.

Suddenly my vision began to twist, as if I was viewing the world through a whirlpool, and I continued to chant softly. As the air around me cleared, I realised that I was back in his dimension, where the house appeared to be literally sick, weeping all kinds of nasty bodily fluids.

Thomas was right in front of me, looking pissed.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded.

“I’m here for you. Take my hand.” I thrust my hand towards him.

“You aren’t real here,” he reminded me.

I didn’t have time to explain that I was using a different method to cross over, so I simply reached out, grabbed his arm and yanked him towards me. The inertia knocked me off my feet and when I landed, Thomas fell on me, winding me for a few moments.

We were back in my dimension though, where everything looked normal.

After glancing around, Thomas leaned up on his arms and looked down at me, but is gaze appeared to get caught on my lip and I could swear I saw desire in his eyes.

“What have you done?” he asked.

“Freed you.”

“That was dangerous,” he told me, looking into my eyes. “You are playing with forces you cannot comprehend.”

I don’t know if this was his kinky idea of foreplay, but his deep voice was turning me on something rotten.

“Why do you think I brought you back?” I asked. “You’re the closest thing that I have to an expert.”

He licked his lips and I suddenly realised that we were still lying on the kitchen floor. I wriggled until he moved off me. Once he was on his feet, he held a hand out for me and after only the briefest hesitation, I took it and allowed him to help me up.

We stared at each other for a moment, then the lights began to flicker before going out. Luckily it was still early in the morning so it didn’t have quite the same dramatic effect that it did at night time.

Thomas looked around, but at the air rather than at any objects.

“She knows I’m gone,” he whispered. “She’ll be furious. She can't do much until closer to Samhain but she will try.” He looked down at me with concern in his eyes.

“Let her try, we’ll fight back.”

“So brave.” A small smile played at the edge of his lips and suddenly, I was the one fixated on his mouth.

What would it feel like to be kissed by him, I wondered. His lips were thin but they appeared soft.

I looked into his eyes and saw a devilish gleam there.

“You should not have released me,” he said, taking a step closer; stalking me.

I probably shouldn’t have been turned on by his actions but he was so handsome and with that added predatory twinkle in his eyes, I was helpless to resist.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

It should feel silly, being stalked by a Victorian gentleman, looking resplendent in his period garb, at 9am on a Wednesday morning, but it didn’t.

“I may not be a demon, like my sister, but I am not an honourable man, Katherine. I was raised with evil and it corrupted me also.”

“How?” I asked, backing up but not running. To be honest, the only reason I was backing away at all, was because I wanted to get caught.

“I am wicked. I’m debauched. Depraved.”

I wondered if he knew what had happened in the world since his absence. “Oh yeah? What’s your magic number?”

“I don’t understand.”

“How many women,” I clarified. “How debauched and depraved are you?” My back hit the wall, nowhere left to run.

“At least twenty. Does that shock you?”

I smiled. “No. I’m not so far short of that myself. I think you might like the new world you find yourself in, Sir Thomas.”

He’d been trapped in a neither world for over 100 years, he must be dying to get laid, so I kissed him. Not a gentle or refined kiss (it felt like an age since I had been laid too).

When I pulled away, he smirked at me.

“You’re a very naughty girl, Katherine.”

“Maybe. What are you going to do about it?”

“What I do to all naughty girls.” He kissed me and grabbed me by the hips, lifting me until I could wrap my legs around his waist.

As we pulled at any clothing in the way, the lights began to flicker again, even the ones that weren’t on.

“Wait!” I called, pushing him away.

“Do you think you can tease me?”

“No, but we need protection. This is not over, just delayed a little.”

He set me down.

I usually travel with condoms, just in case; it’s a holdover from my wilder university days. I rushed to the bedroom and pulled my case out, looking in the interior pocket.

“Yes!” I cried.

I turned to go back to him but he had followed me. Without my legs wrapped around him it was far easier to disrobe us both, not that I did a very thorough job of it. I still had one leg in my jeans and his trousers had this weird, buttoned flappy thing that took some fancy finger-work to undo, and no underwear! Naughty boy!

I grasped his length, as I tore the condom wrapper open with my teeth, but he plucked it from my hands and threw it away. I tried to stop him, to explain what it was, but I fell back on the bed and a moment later, he was inside me. He slid in easily, due to how turned on I was, and I decided not to worry about protection for now. I could go to the sexual health clinic when I got home.

Assuming I survived that long, of course, and this was a very welcome distraction from my fears.

“Oh, God!” I cried as he surged into me. He was huge. “Yes. Yes!”

It was quick and rough, except that he kept kissing my neck. I got the feeling that without such urgency, he could actually be a very good lover, and my suspicions were confirmed when he reached between our bodies and began to rub my clitoris.

The lights were flickering hard enough now that some of the bulbs were actually blowing.

I cried out as I came and after another half dozen thrusts, he came also, then he collapsed on top of me.

The lights stopped flickering and stayed off, except from the odd sparking sound.

We were both panting heavily as he raised himself up and brushed a strand of hair off my forehead.

“Thank you,” he smiled languidly at me.

“Believe me, it was my pleasure.” I was still slightly out of breath. “But dude, your sister’s incestuous issues are seriously whacked.”

He chuckled. “I’m not entirely sure what you said, but I think I agree.”

I sighed contentedly. “Come on, after a hundred years in purgatory, you must be dying for a shower.”

“And food,” he admitted.

“I can do both.”

After we showered together, it was still early enough for breakfast (just) so dressed in his trousers, shirt and waistcoat only, we headed down to the restaurant. He moaned about leaving the stiff collar, cravat and coat off, but I explained how much fashions had changed (as exemplified by my jeans) and he finally agreed.

We’d have to do something about Thomas’s clothing though, this look would pass for breakfast, but someone was eventually going to realise he was in period garb and ask difficult questions. As for getting him a legal identity, I had no clue what to do there, yet.

Apparently the electrical problems had been building wide, because there were electricians and maintenance guys running around all over the foyer.

As we were about to enter the restaurant, we both spotted flashing lights through the glass doors at the front of the house.

“What’s that?”

“An ambulance,” I answered. “Other traffic has to move over or off the roads for them, that’s why the lights and sometimes, they have a siren.”

“Why is there no siren now?”

“Either because there’s no traffic around that need a warning, or because the person they’re collecting is already dead.”

We waited in the foyer, hoping to overhear more information, and through the rumour mill, quickly discovered that Mr Raymond, a middle aged gentleman, had suffered a heart attack while in the shower.

That sounded plausible enough, and I knew that mornings were a dangerous time for cardiac events but given the supernatural happenings around here, we were both wondering if there was more to it.

We followed the ambulance men to the Mr Raymond’s apartment and with all the commotion, managed to squeeze into the room and watch through the doorway as the paramedics went about treating him.

He was still in the shower, which was odd, heart attacks don’t usually cause instant death, so I would have expected him to at least try and reach help and even if he hadn’t made it to a phone, he should have at least tried to make it out of the shower stall.

Together the paramedics got him out and laid him on the floor, but I couldn’t see much of what they were doing to him as there was a crowd around the doorway and I was too short to see over them but when the crowd finally parted for a moment, I could see that they were putting their machines away. He was obviously beyond help.

His expression was the next strange thing I glimpsed, he literally looked terrified. Now, yes, dying and pain are terrifying, but his face seemed frozen in the emotion, as if he was still seeing something awful through his dead eyes.

I kept one ear on the paramedics and one on the conversations the wife was having, just behind me. She had a small group of people around her, trying to console her.

The paramedics were loading the man onto a stretcher now, strapping him to it so he didn’t fall off when carried out.

“Why's it so cold in here?” someone behind me said, and I realised that it was freezing. No one answered her but Thomas and I shared a look; we knew what the cold meant.

“Didn’t he call for help?” someone asked the wife.

“I heard nothing but running water, then he said something like ‘no, please’ and then there was a loud bang. When I went in to check on him, he was lying in the shower stall.”

I’d heard enough, whatever killed Mr Raymond wasn’t natural, so I tugged on Thomas’ arm and he followed me out into the hallway, where more people had gathered to chatter and as we passed through them, I caught snippets of conversation.

_“Do you think he was electrocuted by the power problems this morning?”_

_“Maybe.”_

_“I nearly had a heart attack when the bulbs in the kitchen blew! Frightened the life out of me!”_

_“He was such a sweet man.”_

_“He said at dinner the other night that he’d just been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s.”_

_“Are you saying he killed himself?”_

_“No, just that maybe its better he went while he still had his faculties. That’s what I’d want.”_

We headed down to breakfast and I waited until we were seated to talk.

“It was Lucille, wasn’t it?”

He nodded.

“I thought you said that she didn’t have much power over this world?”

“She doesn’t.” He looked confused. “Until closer to Samhain, she can’t do anything more dangerous than a few light tricks. I suppose it’s possible that in opening a doorway to her realm, you weakened it slightly, making it easier for her to access this world for a time, but it seems unlikely.”

“So did she electrocute him?”

“I fail to see why. Perhaps if the gentleman was weak minded, there is a possibility she could have tried to possess him, but even that would be exceptionally difficult.”

“What do you mean, weak minded?”

“Feeble or retarded.”

“You can't say retarded these days,” I schooled absently. “Would dementia qualify?”

He looked puzzled.

“Senility?” I clarified.

“Yes, it very well might. Did the gentlemen suffer that?”

“I heard someone say he had mild Alzheimer’s, that’s a form of dementia.”

He nodded slowly as he considered. “Those with a weak mind are more susceptible to being possessed by her, but his body is hardly ideal and even trying would have weakened her considerably.”

“Maybe she didn’t care about that,” I suggested. “Maybe she was so angry that I freed you, it was worth trying.”

I could literally feel myself being smothered by guilt.

“That seems likely. The good news is, she will be weak for a while now. This isn’t the first time she has tried to possess someone before everything is in place and for a time afterwards, she… fades. It will allow us some time to investigate what’s going on and hopefully, find a way to stop her.”

I hardly paid any attention to him, his words were being drowned out my by remembrance of the dead man’s face. He had not only died because of something I did, he had died in abject terror.

That poor man. His poor family. This was all my fault. I felt as if the room was closing in on me, the atmosphere getting as thick and as hard to breathe as syrup.

“Stop that.”

“What?” I looked over at Thomas, swallowing down the tears that threatened to bubble over.

“Feeling guilt. It will not aid our quest and may well hinder it. Added to that, you are not responsible for her actions. If Lucille chose to kill him, that is her choice, not yours.”

“But if I-”

“No buts! She is a skilled manipulator and if she can use your guilt against you, she will.”

“But-”

“Did you tear his soul from his body?”

“Of course not!”

“Then you did _not_ kill him.”

I didn’t exactly feel comforted, my heart still felt as if he were being squeezed and my lungs had halved in size, making it impossible to breathe deeply, but I stopped arguing with him.

I didn’t much feel like eating but we needed to, and Thomas deserved a meal after a century without food. Despite the incident killing my hunger, I was surprised to see how much I was putting away. Perhaps I had more of an appetite than I realised.

We didn’t talk much through the rest of breakfast.

“You need some clothes and I need to get out of here for a while,” I said once I had asked for the bill. “Fancy a road trip?” Keeping busy would help take my mind off the guilt.

After a beat to consider, he nodded.

Considering that literally everything about the world had changed, Thomas seemed to take everything in his stride, giving it little more than a curious look and never asking questions.

“Have you see much of modern life?” I asked as I drove into the largest town in the area, about three quarters of an hour away by car.

“I’ve been confined to the house, so only what came there. I’ve seen vehicles like this and larger, but never an ambulance.”

So although he didn’t ask, I took it upon myself to explain things as we drove, like the different types of roads, dual carriage ways and motorways, roundabouts and road signs.

He listened but didn’t ask much and I knew I was chattering more for me than him.

Once in the town, he was fascinated by the tall buildings we saw, but looked in distaste at a few of the brutalist, 60s, poured concrete monstrosities we passed. I parked near the town centre and we walked along the high street.

“Why are there no cars here?”

Finally, a question. I had been starting to worry that something was wrong with him.

“Cars are dangerous so some streets are pedestrianized, which allows shoppers to move about without worrying about being knocked over,” I tried to explain. “What kind of clothes do you want, casual or formal?”

“A gentleman always wears a suit.”

I took him in to Top Man.

“This is not a suit,” he told me, fingering the seams on a jacket. “I wouldn’t let my butler wear this inferior product.”

I sighed. I could have argued with him, told him that I didn’t have the money for a Saville Row tailor, but with all the weird shit that had been going on, I decided not to give a crap. I might not survive past Halloween, so my credit cards could stand to take a pounding. Besides, maybe cosmically, this would help assuage some of my guilt over that poor man’s death. I doubted karma used financial penalties to punish wrongdoers, but it was better than nothing.

I took him to John Lewis and of course, he wanted the best, so we left with four suits and seven shirts in various colours, one pair of shoes, one pair of boots, gloves and cufflinks.

Thomas didn’t seem keen on ties so we bought him some scarves he could wear in the neck, a little like a cravat, I suppose.

With the neckerchiefs, he looked rather like a dapper 40s gentleman but he was handsome enough to pull the look off.

I also threw a three pack of T-shirts into out basket and I forced him into a leather jacket, winter was coming, he’s need more than a blazer. I also thought he’d look hot in it, but I didn’t tell him that.

I didn’t see any change from £3,000.

As we were exiting the shop, he spotted something in the women’s section that caught his eye and began holding dresses up to me.

Now granted, wasn’t looking my best today, I was in jeans and a shirt, with an army jacket over the ensemble, but I didn’t see anything wrong with my wardrobe.

“I don’t need any dresses,” I argued.

“But what you’re wearing makes you look like a boy.”

“I don’t care. Besides, I can’t afford any more clothes.” I rarely buy anything on credit so I did have plenty more space on my cards because, since I always paid my balance off quickly, they kept increasing my credit limit. “I don’t want to get into too much debt.”

“Debt?”

“Yeah. They didn’t give us those clothes in those bags, you know.”

“Will they not simply bill you?”

“What did you think I was doing at the tills?”

“I don’t know, but I didn’t see any coins.”

“We don’t carry much cash money these days, transactions are electronic so if I pay with a card, it either comes out of my bank account and into theirs, or it’s like a loan I take out from a bank and have to pay back some time later.”

He put the dress he had been holding back.

“I will repay you for your purchases today.”

Yeah, right. “Thanks but there’s really no need.”

It was a nice sentiment but how exactly was he going to earn 2,000 quid? Still, no point getting angry with him, I could have foisted the Top Man suits on him.

“So, what’s our next move?” I asked as I led him towards the exit.

“I would suggest go through the contents of Edith’s trunk, she kept diaries which I saw being packed away in that trunk. She seemed to understand more about Lucille than I did, so we must hope she recorded some of her thoughts.”

“Didn’t she tell you her suspicions?”

“Initially she told me everything but after her father’s death, Edith also viewed me with suspicion,” he confessed.

“I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. “I deserved her distrust, I did not want to hear the truth.”

“How did Edith escape?”

“Lucielle and I became trapped in that nether-world you pulled me from.”

“But how did you get there?”

“I wish I knew.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

After picking up some toiletries for Thomas, as well as WD40, a hammer and a screwdriver, we returned to Crimson Peak to try and discover who, or perhaps I should say, what was inhabiting the house.

The lubricant proved not to be up to the task of opening the trunk, so we pried the catches off using the hammer and screwdriver.

The trunk was full of books, most of them fiction novels but there were a dozen leather bound books which appeared to be Edith diaries. We checked dates until we had the most recent volume and I offered to look through it since Thomas looked rather ill at the thought.

I also hoped to gain more insight into Thomas Sharpe and Edith relationship, I’d seen a few snapshots in my dreams but it wasn’t enough to really tell me how either party actually felt.

While I read, I told Thomas to write a list of everything he knew about the creature that had taken over Lucille’s body, down to the smallest details such as her habits and favourite foods; I didn’t know which detail might help us in identifying what she was.

We settled at the dining table, and Thomas sat beside me, writing on one of my A4 pads while I read the diary.

Edith’s handwriting was elegant and easy to read and I soon found myself becoming immersed in her thoughts. Thomas also had a habit of reaching out with his left hand and touching me. Most of the time he kept his hand in the small of my back, gently stroking me through my clothes, but sometimes he would move to my shoulder or take my free hand.

Reading her thoughts and having her husband doting on me, all combined to make it even easier to put myself in Edith’s shoes.

Edith came across as a woman who was fairly innocent in the ways of the world, certainly by today’s standards, but she wasn’t dumb by any stretch of the imagination. I could see that she picked up on many things, such as subtext and body language, but in her writings, she tried to reason herself out of her suspicions, as if she had been taught to only ever see the best in people and to think bad things or harbour suspicions, made her the bad person, not whoever she distrusted.

I had a feeling that had Edith been born today, she would have done wonderful things. Alas she was born into the wrong time and wrong class and taught only what she needed to be a Lady.

The position of ‘Lady’ sounded as if it was much of a gilded prison, as it was a desirable social standing and I have never been more glad to consider myself common than I was at that moment.

_‘Lucille cares very much for her brother, and he for her, but sometimes the way she looks at me, more like a rival than a sister-in-law, sends a shiver down my spine. I feel awful for even thinking such a thing. Thomas and Lucille are so close because their mother died young and their father was a very distant man. Thomas has told me how often the staff at the house changed; why they had half a dozen different governesses, so they had no security in life except each other. I feel as if I am blaming them for loving each other but having lost my own mother so young, I know exactly how lonely that can make one's life, and my father was not at all cold or distant towards me._

_I just wish that Lucille would view me as an addition to their family, not a detractor from it. I have no desire to take her brother away from her.’_

Clever girl. I’d picked up on that jealous vibe from my dreams.

_‘I feel as though I am being watched, almost constantly but most especially when I am in my room. Sometimes when Thomas visits me at night, I swear that I can hear someone creeping around outside my door. But why?’_

It’s Lucille! I wanted to yell at her, but of course, I could do nothing about past events.

_‘Last night, after marital relations, I had that same feeling of being watched again and I pulled on a gown and headed towards the door, intending to fling it open and find out if someone was in there, only to hear footsteps running away._

_Thomas wanted to know what I was doing and I shared my fears, but he told me I was imagining things and probably just hearing the servants above as they went about their nightly routines.’_

Thomas had to know it was his sister, but why he was protecting her? Was it some kind of misguided loyalty, or something more?

_‘Papa is dead.’_

That was all she entered that day, one line, and no more entries for five days.

Her misery was evident just from those three words and I almost felt like crying for her.

_‘Alan came for father’s funeral and just his presence was a huge comfort to me. Thomas has been wonderful, doting on me and taking excellent care of me, yet I just feel hollow. To my detriment, I can't help thinking that Thomas’ actions seem guilt ridden, as if he is responsible for what happened to my father. It feels as though there is a distance growing between us and that is probably my fault.’_

Alan? I thought back to the news articles, Alan McMichael had been a friend of Edith’s, I think.

_‘I shared some of my suspicions, the bad feeling’s I’ve been having with Alan today, hoping that he would talk me out of them but instead, he encouraged them. He too feels that Thomas and Lucille are hiding something, but he will not say any more.’_

Yes! Go Alan! You reassure the poor woman that she isn’t imagining things.

_‘Alan confessed that he believes Thomas knows more about father’s death than he is letting on, but I simply fail to understand how that could be the case. My father was in a locked bathroom when he died, how could anyone know what happened in that room?_

_I seem to continually waver between relief that Alan does not think me insane or a bad person, and guilt for thinking so badly of Thomas. He does genuinely seem to love me but sometimes I see him whispering with Lucille, or they cease talking when I enter a room, and it troubles me._

_Thomas seems to dislike Alan and I often see them sharing challenging glancing, as if Thomas is jealous of Alan. I have tried explaining that we’ve have been friends since infancy and nothing more, but it doesn’t seem to alleviate Thomas’ jealousy.’_

So was Thomas jealous because he loved Edith, or because he feared Alan would take Edith away, thus ending his sister’s plans for the girl.

I was getting hungry as we had missed lunch.

“Do you want a sandwich?” I asked Thomas.

He looked up from his notes and smiled.

“Only if it’s no trouble.” He leaned over and kissed my cheek.

“It’s fine.”

I made ham and mustard sandwiches, probably not his usual fare but it would sustain us, and a pot of tea.

“Thank you,” he smiled sweetly as I returned, as if I’d spent hours slaving, rather than just slapping some meat between bread. I could well understand why Edith fell for him so hard, and so fast.

_‘I am with child! This is such wonderful news, especially in light of our recent tragedies. Thomas is thrilled and even Lucille seems happy for me._

_Alan was… less enthusiastic. He even said that he believes I am in danger here. I’m afraid we had something of a falling out and he has gone to stay at an inn in the village. I do hope we can reconcile before he returns home.’_

Pregnant. Hadn’t Thomas said something about the entity that was possessing Lucille needing or liking infants?

_‘Lucille has been wonderful to me recently and I finally believe that we are connecting as sisters. She is eager for the baby’s coming and I believe she will be as doting an aunt as anyone could wish for._

_Our new closeness has allowed me a glimpse of her that I had previously missed and I’m sorry to report that she seems to be ailing. I don’t yet feel close enough to her to pry but I do notice that she often tires easily and looks careworn. I do hope that she isn’t unwell.’_

Was Lucille ill?

“Thomas?”

He looked up from the list he was writing.

“You said Lucille died shortly after you and she were trapped in the other dimension, right?”

He nodded.

“How did she die?” I had assumed that it was from injuries sustained in the fall, but what if it wasn’t?

“She had been sickening for some time. Doctors said it was consumption but she had none of the breathing difficulties usually associated with the condition.”

I was under the impression that consumption had been a bit of a catch all diagnosis, for any slow, unexplained ailments. It could have been something like cancer, many of them has no or few physical signs of illness, the damage was all done inside the body. Even things like breast cancer, which people were taught to check for these days, might not be spotted, because who thought to look for things such as pea sized lumps in the armpit back then?

“Did you ever get the repairs done to the house?” I asked.

“How do you know about that?” he frowned, almost glaring at me.

I had assumed that Thomas had showed me my dreams, somehow, trying to explain himself before we could actually converse, but what if he hadn’t? What if they were another facet of being born slightly psychic? If the house itself was living, maybe I was picking up on what it was broadcasting.

“I had a dream about it,” I decided to be honest. Although I’d only seen a few snapshots, if he thought that I knew more a lot more than just what he told me, it might make him more inclined to be honest with me.

He sighed and bowed his head. “No,” he answered. “We had plans and a little work was done, mainly on the roof which had a few leaks, but Edith father died, then we discovered she was pregnant and Lucille lost some of her zeal for repairing the home.”

“Thank you,” I nodded absently, not at all sure what to make of this information, then I turned back to the diaries.

_‘Last night a ghost visited me in my bed. I don’t know who it was, I was afraid to look, but I could swear that it touched me and it felt like… evil. I've seen ghosts before but I have never felt that level of malevolence until now.  
_

_I’ve started to notice odd events even when I'm alone now. Sometimes I could swear that the house… breathes and at night, when everyone is asleep, sometimes I think I can hear a heartbeat. Then the other day, Lucille had a nosebleed while visiting me and, I’m almost afraid to write this, but I would swear that the wall of the house began to bleed too. Lucille said that they had a problem with damp and that was what had leaked from the wallpaper, but it was dark red._

_I feel as though I’m losing my mind in this house.’_

I know how you feel, love.

_‘Lucille has taken to giving me tea which she swears is good for the baby. It tastes foul but she is adamant that it will help the baby grow strong. Honestly, I would tip it away if I could but she hovers over me, making sure I drink it._

_As much as I appreciate her attempts to connect with me, I do wish she would stop caring so much about the child. I am not even two moths yet and the idea of her being so overbearing for another seven months is a little chilling._

_Sometimes I would swear that she cares more for the baby than me. The other morning I already felt nauseous but she still insisted that I drink her concoction. It made me sick, and then she insisted I have another cup. I was rather forceful with her, I’m afraid, and she stopped badgering me for a time, but she insisted I drink it after lunch._

_I have tried to speak to Thomas about this but he insists that she has my best interests at heart but sometimes I wonder, do either of them?’_

Something about that passage set alarm bells ringing, but I couldn’t put my finger on why.

I mean, yes, Lucille was sick and yes, she probably intended to switch bodies to the baby (possibly even the foetus) and that tea she was forcing on poor Edith was probably some nasty potion to facilitate that transfer in some way.

None of that was particularly alarming though, so why did I feel as though someone had walked over my grave? I already knew that Lucille had her eye on possessing me.

I continued reading.

_‘Alan returned today, begging me to return to America with him and leave Thomas. He assured me that he can raise this child as his own and even if I am unable to get a divorce, he will stay by my side, living as husband and wife even if we cannot legally be so._

_Thomas and Lucille are arguing almost constantly, but always in hushed whispers. They both refuse to tell me what they disagree over, not wanting to upset me in my ‘delicate state’. I am not an invalid and honestly, not knowing what’s going on is upsetting me far more than knowing could._

_I feel like such a fool. I allowed the exotic Sir Thomas and his charm to turn my head, when I should have looked to the steadfast and loyal Alan, my best friend for as long as I can remember. If only I had thought to look beyond our friendship earlier.’_

I could feel her confusion and disquiet, probably because I felt much the same.

Thomas’ hand was resting on my shoulder, his thumb gently caressing me but it didn’t feel sweet suddenly, it felt…

I shuddered.

“Are you cold?” he turned to me.

“I'm fine.” I gave him as reassuring smile as I could.

“Here,” he stood and removed his jacket, draping it over my shoulders.

“Now you’ll be cold.”

He sat back down and this time his hand rested on my thigh. It was equal parts comforting, disconcerting and erotic.

“I’m used to cold houses,” he assured me, pressing a kiss to my cheek. “Have you learned anything helpful?”

“Hard to tell,” I hedged. I’d been turning down the corners on pages that might be helpful but for some reason, I felt unwilling to share much with him. Partly I didn’t want to hurt his feelings by telling him that his wife distrusted him to such a degree, but there was more to it. After reading her thoughts, I wasn’t sure _I_ still trusted him.

_‘I saw Lucille entering the basement stairs again today and tired of excuses, I waited in the library until she came up again and ventured down there myself. I saw no signs of the mould that they said could be harmful for the baby, but ~~was not at all nice down there~~. If I’m honest, it felt alive down there. The walls seemed to thrum with some sort of unknown energy and I could swear that the further I walked from the stairs, the more ~~intense~~ ~~loud~~ excited the house became. _

_I don't know what to make of what I saw down there. They looked like covered circular baths, padlocked closed so I could not see what was inside them. I can't ask because I know I ill be rebuked for going down there, but what is the point of those vessels?_

_I can't explain it and to my shame, I fled quickly. All I have is more questions but still no answers.’_

I hadn’t been in the basement, I’d have to go down there.

_‘I have decided to leave with Alan. I simply cannot stay in this house any longer._

_I feel awful because Thomas has been very sweet lately but everything about this place makes me feel corrupted. I feel as if I haven’t breathed clean air in months. I know Tom will try and stop me, as will everyone, actually, so we plan to leave surreptitiously. Alan is making the plans and will tell me once everything is in place. I feel awful for taking Thomas’ child away but if I don’t leave, I think this house and this family, will swallow me whole.’_

That was the last entry, dated two days before she was found wandering, alone and bloody, everyone else missing or dead.

I supposed if I wanted answers, I’d have to ask Thomas.

He was gently tapping his pencil against the pad, so I supposed now was as good a time as any to get some answers. Whether or not I could trust his answers was a question for another time.

“What happened on the night you and Lucille entered the other dimension?

He looked over and it seemed to take him a second to register my words.

“I’m still not entirely sure myself,” he admitted. “The day started like any other. Edith was with child and suffered dreadfully with morning sickness, so I went to see her in bed. If she took things easy and rose later, she generally had an easier time of it. I tried to coax her into trying some dry toast but she didn’t feel up to it. She was distant… almost cold. I’d never seen her like that before, then as I was about to leave, she called me back, sat me on the edge of her bed and took my hand.”

“What did she want?”

“She asked me to leave with her, leave the house, leave Lucille, just let it be her and I.”

“What did you say?”

He met my eye only briefly then looked away, as if guilty. “I told her she was being silly, that she had nothing to fear from the house or my sister, and that she should try to remain calm, for the baby’s sake. She asked again, begged really, she said that if I loved her, even if I didn’t understand why, I would do this for her. I grew angry. I knew Lucille was a difficult woman to get along with but to take against her as Edith seemed to have, felt like madness. Eventually I accused her of being hysterical and threatened to call a doctor out of she didn’t try to calm herself.”

He sat silently for a few long moments, then he took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“I often wonder what might have happened if I had agreed.”

He sounded so forlorn that I reached out and grabbed his hand.

“Lucille wouldn’t have let you,” I told him. “I can't see any way that this could have ended well, for any of you.”

“Perhaps,” he shook his head, as if shaking off his sadness. “After that, I went about my normal activities. I breakfasted with Lucille, asked her to visit Edith today and try to make an effort with her. I didn’t tell her what Edith had said, about leaving her behind. Then I went to the study to open the morning’s post and return any correspondence, I checked on my business ventures, wrote a few letters, that sort of thing. I had intended to go into town but given how upset Edith was, I delayed that trip and went to see her again.

“She was up and dressed that time, eating lunch in her rooms. I joined her but she didn’t welcome me and I seriously considered giving into her demands. We had been so happy in the early days. It was hard to believe that barely three months after our wedding, she was being so cold towards me. Reason won out over romanticism, of course, and I didn’t agree. I left telling her I would see her at dinner.”

He frowned then.

“What?”

“Edith had said something a few days before, about the basement. I thought she was… well, paranoid is a nice way of putting it, but the thought kept nagging at me. Finally I went down there.”

“And?”

“And I felt as she did. I hadn't been to the basement since we were children, we ran away from our governess once and hid down there. I was young, not even five, and I don’t remember what happened, only that I was terrified. The staff found me down there, screaming and crying.”

“Where was Lucille?”

“She was down there too, watching me, they told me, unaffected by it, even though she was two years younger. I’ve been down there only a handful of times since then, and never since we grew up.”

“So what happened that day?”

“I finally understood what Edith meant, why she was so disquieted down there. She said it felt alive but I couldn’t see it. I could hear it though, like a pulse, like a heartbeat, almost.”

“Then what happened?”

“I decided to leave, take the coach into the village overnight then we’d journey to London and rent a house for the winter. The season was long finished, so there would be plenty of choice. I felt better having decided and I went to tell Edith. She was thrilled.” He smiled at the memory of how she must have reacted. “She threw herself into my arms and began to weep. We kissed and… made love, but we delayed too long. I called for a carriage to be readied and we began to pack the essentials, intending to have the rest sent on, when there came an inhuman shriek.

“We both ran to the landing where we saw Dr McMichael, lying dead in the hallway. The front doors were open, the snow was blowing in but there was no one else about. I told Edith to lock herself in her room and not come out unless it was me calling her. I think she was in shock because I had to repeat myself a few times before she tore her gaze away from her friend and heard me, then she did as I said and I waited until I heard the lock turn.

“I closed the front doors, covered Dr McMichael with a blanket then went in search of someone. Anyone, but I couldn’t find any signs of life.

“I realised that a sudden storm had set in and we would be going nowhere that night. I could hardly see anything out the windows, it was a blizzard. In the kitchen I found our evening mean still cooking on the stove, some kind of stew, and took a large bowl and some bread up to Edith. I also pocketed a few knives. I explained the situation to Edith as we ate, that we would have to stay until tomorrow and although disappointed, she agreed that the roads would be impassable.

“I had to check on Lucille though, I worried that whoever had attacked Dr McMichael might have hurt her too, so I left Edith with a knife and told her to get ready for bed and lock herself in.”

He fell silent then, and I squeezed his hand to encourage him.

“The rest all happened so quickly. I found Lucille in the library, looking out at the blizzard. Her hands were bloody and I thought she was hurt but when I found no wounds, I knew she had killed Edith’s friend… She tried to make me understand, told me Edith was planning to leave with the doctor, taking my child away, so Lucille felt she had to stop her. I told her it was murder, that she would be the one taken away when people found out, and she laughed. So bitter and hollow. She said it didn’t matter what happened to her, she would be reborn soon, as long as Edith didn’t leave.

“I began to back away but she wouldn’t let me. We fought, I hurt her, cut her with one of the knives I’d procured from the kitchen, but she gained the upper hand and began strangling me. Edith must have heard and she came at Lucille with her knife. Lucille back handed her away and she fell, hard, and when Edith gripped her stomach screaming in pain, Lucille cried out too, at the exact same moment, and her face deformed into something grotesque.

“I was still seeing stars but when the screaming stopped, Lucille rounded on Edith, calling her all sorts of vile names. Edith was bleeding, losing the baby, but she still had the knife and she kept Lucille at bay for a while, until I could get to my feet.

“Then it was… I don’t know how to explain it. Lucille knocked her knife away and I ran at her, intending to tackle her to the ground, but then Edith shouted ‘Go away, leave me alone’ and it was like some kind of force came with her words, Lucille and I were both propelled away from Edith and I could see I was heading for the banister but Lucille wasn’t. I grabbed her wrist at the last minute and pulled her over with me, then we landed in that place, where you visited me. It looked almost like my home and I ran back up the stairs to Edith, but she wasn’t there any more. I called for her, frantic, then I saw a glimpse of her, crying on the floor, exactly where she had been.

“I kept calling, trying to see her again, then I saw Dr McMichael but he was different, just a vapour. If he was there and Edith wasn’t, I surmised that we were dead and Edith had lived. I managed to see another glimpse of Edith, holding tightly to the banister as she made her way downstairs, still in her nightgown, but that was the last I saw of her.” He looked into my eyes. “Did she…?”

“She survived. She was found waking into town, covered in blood, rambling about demons and ghosts.”

“But the storm?”

“Must have stopped. Nothing I read mentioned a blizzard, so it must have been something Lucille did, localised here, or maybe an illusion or some sort to keep you here.”

“Do you know what became of her?”

“She was institutionalised for a time, then released. I think I read that she returned to the states. Once she was released, she claimed not to remember what had happened, and no bodies were ever found, not you, Lucille, staff or the doctor.”

My stomach rumbled and I realised how late it was.

“We should eat,” Thomas suggested.

“I’m not really up for cooking, so shall we visit the restaurant?”

“If you would like,” he smiled.

“We’ll have to change, dinner is rather formal here.” He was still in his loose Victorian shirt, trousers and waistcoat, while I was in jeans and an oversized shirt. I wasn’t looking forward to dressing up, I prefer casual clothes but I had to admit, I was keen to see Thomas in his new clothes.

Thomas allowed me to dress him up as I saw fit, although we were delayed a little as while changing, we both awoke a rather more carnal appetite, but we soon sated our hunger. Surprisingly, the lingering suspicion that Edith’s diary had put into my head didn’t trouble me, but I couldn’t say why.

I did briefly wonder why a man like him was with me but our future was so uncertain right now, that I simply didn’t have the mental capacity to worry about where the relationship was going. If we survived, we could worry about that but until then, I intended to just enjoy this for whatever it was.

Thomas looked very dapper in a charcoal suit and blue shirt, with the collar unbuttoned to give it a casual air. I opted for a black maxi dress and a fitted blazer over it, then I twisted my hair up into a claw grip and applied a little mascara and lip gloss.

Thomas offered me his elbow and escorted me downstairs.

As we walked, he looked around at the details of the house, seemingly fascinated.

“Did they do a good job restoring it?” I asked.

“Pardon?” he took a moment to digest what I’d asked. “Oh, yes. I was actually thinking how odd it feels to me in my house, yet it’s owned by someone else now.”

“That must be freaky,” I sympathised.

Dinner was a quick affair, neither of us having much appetite for socialising at the moment and being surrounded by other diners, we weren’t even free to talk about our investigations, so we ate and ran, as it were.

As we walked back through the reception, he paused by a table covered in brochures, designed to publicise the house, and Thomas picked one up and leafed through it. I’d already been given one and as well as detailing some of the restoration, it was full of pictures to advertise the various uses the house could be hired for, such as conferences and weddings.

“I’ll see you back at the room,” I offered, but he closed the brochure and took it with him as we walked back.

Once back in our apartment, I checked my email to see if I’d had a reply from the professor who was an expert on Faust, but there was nothing but work and spam emails.

“How did you get on with the list?” I asked Thomas, who was looking through the brochure he had brought.

“I think I’ve included every detail I can remember,” he said, handing me the pad he’s been writing on. He’d filled three pages with notes but I was getting tired and I decided this could wait until tomorrow. I hadn’t been sleeping well recently and I was exhausted.

Thomas was more than willing to retire early and it never even occurred to me to make him sleep elsewhere.

I used the bathroom first, brushing my hair out, taking my makeup off, then I brushed my teeth and took my birth control pill, then I let Thomas in for his turn while I undressed for bed. I intended to go straight to sleep but as I watched Thomas disrobe, I was captivated by him once more. He had this combination of lithe gracefulness which made me finally understand the phrase, poetry in motion, but he also had a sort of raw masculinity that emanated from every pore and turned me on something rotten.

Once naked, he locked eyes with me as he slowly stalked towards the bed, and I knew I was going to be his next meal.

I felt unable to look away from him and before he had even laid a finger on me, my breathing was becoming shallow. Once standing right beside me, he took a corner of the duvet and yanked it off, revealing me in all my… clothed glory.

His eyes glinted with displeasure as he took in my shorts and t-shirt but to my shame, it turned me on. I’m supposed to be an enlightened woman, a feminist, someone who believed in female sexual empowerment, and here I was, worrying that I’d upset someone I’d known for only a day with my pyjama choice.

I shouldn’t care if he likes what I wore to bed, but I did.

Thomas reached under my t-shirt and grabbing the waist band, peeled my shorts off. I raised my hips to facilitate him, not even considering denying him. He tossed the garment over his shoulder then took hold of my wrists and brought them over my head. When he released me, I didn’t even contemplate moving but again, I sat up slightly to enable him to remove my t-shirt.

I lay back down as his eyes raked the length of my body and I shivered with desire. I knew I was already wet and I wondered how he could make me so without ever touching me. I’d never met anyone who could reduce me to putty in their hands, as Thomas could, and I was surprised. Weren’t the Victorians supposed to be prudish?

He caught my eyes again and held my gaze as he walked to the end of the bed, where he stood for a moment. My hands were still over my head, where he had placed them.

“I’m going to make you scream,” he told me, then he crawled onto the bed. My legs parted of their own volition and he smiled, pleased by my visceral reaction to him.

He started by kissing my abdomen, slowly working his way down to my mound and I couldn’t believe how turned on I felt. He hadn’t even touched my sex yet and I felt that I might even be able to come without that stimulation. It was as if he was making love to my mind, far more than my body.

Eventually he parted my lips with his fingers but rather than diving in, he just stared at my sex for a few, long moments.

“Beautiful,” he breathed. Then he put his lips together and gently blew cool air on my exposed sex.

I gasped both with desire and surprise that such a simple thing could be so erotic.

Finally he lowered his lips but still did not give me the relief I wanted. He focused his attentions on my labia, licking, nibbling and kissing them, until I was thrashing around on the bed, whimpering.

“Please,” I begged, my hands going down to his head and threading my fingers in his hair, I tried to pull him closer, to make him do what I wanted.

Thomas just looked up at me, his eyes blazing with irritation.

“Put your hands back,” he ordered, and I did. “Keep them there.” He hadn’t spoken harshly or shouted but I would no more disobey him than I would dare disobey a drill sergeant.

He went back to work and I wondered how long this beautiful torture was going to last. Had this been an interrogation, I would have told him all my secrets by now, I was sure of it.

“Please,” I whimpered again. “Make me come.”

I could feel him smile but he didn’t indulge me. I writhed under his skilful mouth and issued a series of sound that I wouldn’t have believed a human could make, from plaintive wails to needful keens.

“Please!” I was nearly sobbing and he took pity on me. His lips clamped around my clitoris and as his tongue rubbed over the sensitive tip, I came, letting out a string of expletives that should have made a gentleman blush. I writhed on the bed, my body twisting with each new wave of pleasure that flooded through me, but I never moved my hands.

He watched me avidly, still ribbing my clit with his talented tongue, prolonging my pleasure for as long as possible. Only when my body settled down, and I was left a languid, panting wreck, did he crawl up and position himself at my entrance.

He entered me with one smooth, long thrust, seating himself to the hilt inside me. The intrusion was easy but still shocking as I felt full to bursting. He set a steady pace ad he kissed me; I could still taste myself on his lips.

“Look at me,” he said and although it was hard, I opened my eyes and held his powerful gaze. I felt laid bare before him, as if he was staring into my soul.

After a few minutes, his thrusts increased in tempo.

“Come for me,” he ordered.

I wouldn’t have believed it was possible again so soon but as his thrusts became harder, his pelvis hit my clitoris with each insertion and a second climax had my sheath clamping down on his length, making him feel even bigger as he spilled his seed into me.

He closed his eyes and rested his forehead on mine as we both recovered, then he kissed me softly and withdrew. I missed the feeling of having him inside me but, feeling both sated and happy, I curled into him and fell into a dreamless sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

I didn’t know what had awoken me, but for once it wasn’t a nightmare. I heard a creak, and cracked my eyes open just enough to see Thomas slipping out of the room.

My heart filled with dread as I wondered why he was sneaking around. I sat up and listened trying to hear where he was going, and the sound of the front door closing behind him was unmistakable.

I got out of bed and pulled my robe on, rushing to the main door in the hopes of being able to see which direction he had gone, but he was out of sight.

I closed the door and looked out through the peephole, so I could at least see which direction he returned from. I waited for over half an hour and was about to give up when I finally saw him approach the door from the left, the direction of the main staircase. As quickly and quietly as I could, I retreated to the bedroom, pushing the door to and peering out through the sliver of a gap. My field of vision was limited to a small section of the living room but since the curtains weren’t drawn, allowing the moonlight in, I could just about see.

I watched as Thomas, crossed the room, carrying what appeared to be a small box, then he moved out of sight.

Where had he been? What was in the box?

I stayed where I was until a few minutes later, when he reappeared entering the short hallway to our room, sans box.

I threw my robe back over the chair and scrambled into bed, my back to the middle so I was facing the door, closing my eyes and breathing as deeply as I could to feign sleep, but my heart was pounding and I was certain he knew I’d been watching. I heard Thomas disrobing then felt the mattress dip as he climbed back into bed with me. When his arm fell around my waist I almost flinched, but all he did was slide closer and spoon me, then he pressed a kiss to my shoulder.

I continued to breathe deeply but my mind was reeling. Where had he been? What had he been doing? And what was in that box?

I wanted to stay awake until I was sure he was sleeping, but my exhaustion caught up with me and I fell asleep.

***

I awoke the next morning to something breaking and a string of curses. Thomas wasn’t beside me so I grabbed my robe and headed in the direction of the noise.

I found him in the kitchen, with a broken mug on the floor, the kettle sitting on the hob and Thomas muttering under his breath as he opened the grill and oven, trying to find where to light it.

“Problems?” I asked rather smugly.

“I was trying to make tea,” he admitted, “but how do I light this contraption?”

I chuckled a little at his bemusement and stepped forward, wrapping one hand around his waist as I took the kettle from the hob and set it back on its base, flipping the switch. At least he had filled it with water first.

“Kettles are electric these days, as are most ovens and hobs,” I explained. “Just sit it on the base and push that down. When it’s boiled, the light will go out.”

I didn’t even want to start on the oven yet. Who knew how many fires he might cause if I explained how to use it?

I pottered around, getting the pot and tea out as he watched me, a ridiculously attractive smile on his lips which made me blush like a schoolgirl every time I looked at him.

“Did you sleep well?” I asked as I bent down to sweep up the remnants of the mug with the dustpan and brush, trying to sound nonchalant and keeping my back to him.

“Like a log,” he assured me.

I was glad he couldn’t see my expression.

“I thought you might be restless, first night back in the real world and all.”

“It was just nice to sleep at all,” he assured me.

I turned to face him, knowing it was safe to let my confusion show.

“You didn’t sleep in the other place?”

“I don’t know. Not as we understand it, anyway. Sometimes I would just sit still and… cease to be, if that makes sense. I believe that might have been a form of slumber, but without days and nights and the passage of time, it isn’t what I would call sleep.”

I nodded, wondering why he wasn’t telling me about getting up last night, or what was in the box he had returned with.

I knew I should just ask him but I was afraid of the answer. I know it’s stupid, I’ve only know him 24 hours (well, as a flesh and blood person at least) but I already felt more for him that I had my last boyfriend, and we’d been together a year.

What if Thomas was scheming behind my back? I knew logically that it was better to know sooner rather than later, but what would I do if he was? And not just because of my feelings for him, but because he was my only ally and without him, I would truly be alone in my fight.

I knew it was cowardly, but I have never felt so far out of my depth before.

Just because I was afraid to confront him, didn’t mean I was going to let this slide though. At the first opportunity, I would search the apartment to see if I could find the box, but how could I get rid of Thomas for long enough to do so?

While the tea brewed, I made us both eggs on toast. I was distracted by Thomas’s deception, wondering if there could be an innocent explanation, and wondering what our next move should be.

“Did Edith’s diary have any information on what we’re hunting for?”

I shook my head. “All she had was feelings and suspicions.” Much like me, I silently added. “Your story was more telling.”

“How so?”

“Well you said that Lucille didn’t die in the fall but soon after you arrived in that nether world, right?”

“Yes.”

“And when Edith screamed ‘go away’ at you and Lucille, you were both pushed away from her by some kind of force.”

“You think Edith was supernatural?”

“No, but in her diary, Edith wrote about how Lucille was very interested in her baby and kept feeding her some awful herbal tea.”

Thomas looked blank. “I don’t understand.”

“I think Lucille was dying, or her body was, and she intended to steal your baby’s body. In preparation for that… body jump, she fed Edith some kind of potion, possibly mystical or magical or whatever it is we’re dealing with. When Edith was scared and frightened, she unknowingly called on some of her baby’s ability and was able to not only push you and Lucille away, but actually send you well, Lucille, back to where she came from.”

Thomas was nodding slowly as I spoke. “That might make sense.”

Really? That was his only response? I mean, sure, his baby was little more than a cluster of cells when that was happening, but shouldn’t he feel something… more? But I didn’t have time to focus on that right now. In a little over a week, I was going to be possessed by Thomas’s psychotic sister, and that thought sent a shiver down my spine.

“So we know we’re looking for an entity than can possess other people’s bodies, and we’re possibly looking for an entity that prefers children’s bodies,” I said.

“Do we know enough to say that though?” he asked.

“Well she had a perfect candidate in Edith. If she wanted to inhabit an adult, Lucille could have just taken her body, especially given how she feels about you. That would have made her your wife, but she didn’t do that. I would hazard a guess that while she can possess adults, it’s better for her if she can take over a body from infancy, perhaps because she can prepare the body with that magic potion, or maybe children’s souls are easier to evict, I don’t know, but she must have been after your child, rather than Edith for a reason.”

“Agreed.” He nodded.

“We’ll go through your list of Lucille’s character traits you wrote after breakfast, and see if we can’t find some more clues, or make some more deductions or theories about her.”

“Good idea,” he smiled warmly at me, and I wondered how I could ever doubt him. I did still have my doubts, of course I did, but my conviction wavered frequently.

Once we’d finished eating, I stacked our plates but he stopped me by taking my hands and turned me to face him.

My heart skipped a beat as I looked up into his warm blue eyes, and I wondered how I could suspect him, and yet still want him so badly.

“I don’t know what the future holds,” he told me, “but I couldn’t wish for anyone better to face it with.” He raised my hands to his lips and kissed each in turn.

“You don’t even know me.”

“I know you,” he assured me, gently squeezing my hands. “I may not know everything about you, but I know that you have a good heart.”

His words both pleased and saddened me, partly because I couldn’t say the same back to him, and partly because I wondered if I was being played.

“I’m glad you’re here too,” I said, because I had to say something.

“Are you?” he surprised me with his insight.

“I’m the one who brought you here, aren’t I?”

His answering smile was gentle and warm. He pressed a soft kiss to my lips again then released me.

***

The idea that I was going to be possessed by Lucile was terrifying, and the only way I could deal with the ever present threat was to try and forget about it.

I had some experience at repressing negative emotions so while not completely successful, it did allow me to damp down my fears enough to function. Still, every now and again the gravity of my situation would hit me and for a few seconds, until I got myself back under control, I would feel as though I was falling, that same awful sensation you sometimes get at night, just as you’re dropping off to sleep, only more prolonged.

The morning brought no new insights into Lucille, but I received a call at midday from reception to tell me that a parcel had been delivered. I asked Thomas to go down and retrieve it, then I took the opportunity to do a quick search of the living room but I didn’t find the box he had brought back last night. I didn’t get a good look at it, so I wasn’t entirely sure what I was looking for, but I had to try. I was unsuccessful and when I heard the key in the lock, I dashed back to my laptop and tried to look relaxed.

“What is it?” he asked, handing me padded envelope nearly three inches thick.

“It’s a book on alchemy.” I replied. “Lucille mentioned that Faust freed her and this book has some references to him. Have you read the book you left for me?”

“Yes. I saw it in Lucille’s room and was able to read it sometimes from the other side. Once the renovations began, I was able to move it to the attic.”

“How, if you were trapped in another dimension?” Focusing on the minutia helped me to forget what the stakes of this research truly were.

“I turned pages the same way I moved your glass.” He answered. “It doesn’t always work but I didn’t exactly have much else to do. I thought I might find answers in there, but I couldn’t.”

“We’ll take another look through. Maybe with what we know now, you’ll notice something you missed before. I’ll read this new one, then we’ll swap.”

Thomas nodded his agreement and we settled on the sofa to read.

***

_‘Faust claimed he was receiving messages from the demon Beelphegor…’_

My heart began pounding as I realised that I finally had a tangible lead and each sentence I read further confirmed my suspicions that we finally had a name for our foe.

_‘…associated with lewd behaviour…’_

Well, she did lust after her brother. Thomas’s list of information about Lucille also said that she had taken many lovers, despite society’s disapproval.

_‘…a demon who made people distrustful of each other…’_

Wasn’t Edith suspicious about both Thomas and Lucille? And now, wasn’t I?

Of course, there could be a very good reason to feel paranoid, but my initial instincts had told me to trust Thomas, and I had learned to trust my intuition because it was usually right. Was this demon the reason I now distrusted Thomas so much?

_‘…seduce men with money and wealth…’_

The Sharpe family had been wealthy for generations and although my dreams had told me that Thomas married Edith for her money, they had also shown me that the family was far from poor, and had more than enough cash reserves to build a new house, just not quite enough to keep propping up this old dilapidated one.

I looked over to Thomas, who appeared tired. We were on our second day of reading and aside from a food breaks, and a few rests for sex, we hadn’t stopped looking for answers.

To be honest, sex was the only time when I could totally lay my worries and fears to rest, because Thomas was so very good at it, he was able to completely distract me. Not to mention that I couldn’t sleep without him wearing me out first.

“Beelphegor,” I said, observing him closely.

“Bless you,” he answered, without looking up from his book. In fact, he gave no signs at all that the word meant anything to him, his eyes didn’t even pause in reading.

“Do you recognise that?”

He looked up at me and shook his head. “Should I?”

“I don’t know,” I hedged. “Carry on, I’m just going to check on something.”

I went to my laptop and did a search for Beelphegor, from which I discovered a few other tidbits.

Apparently the demon gave people ideas, often inventions which made them successful, then used their own greed against them. He or she was believed to be strongest in the month of October, and had been Satan’s right hand man, so to speak.

Depictions of the demon showed either a hideous, skeletal form, much like the one I had seen in my dream and the creature I had encountered in the strange alternate dimension, or it was drawn as a beautiful young woman.

I was almost certain that this was the demon I was looking for, when I discovered something called

Beelphegor’s Prime. Why would a number be named for a demon? Intrigued, I studied the number.

1000000000000066600000000000001.

Two number ones. Two groups of 13 zeros and a central grouping of 666, the mark of the demon.

1, 13 zeros and 666. Why did that seem familiar?

“Where’s that brochure you picked up last night?” I asked Thomas.

“Uh,” he looked around. “By the lamp.” He pointed and I snatched it up, leafing through until I found the section on the house history.

_‘Crimson Peak is notable for having 666 windows, especially considering that the window tax was in force when the house was built and most aristocrats were trying to minimise the number of windows, often going so far as to brick up existing ones.’_

666 windows. That rang a bell, touching on something I’d learned or read, but the information was ephemeral and just out of reach…

Calendar houses! They had some ridiculous planning like 365 windows for 365 days, 52 rooms for weeks, 12 chimneys for months, 4 wings as seasons and 7 external doors for days of the week.

“How many rooms does Crimson Peak have?” I looked over to Thomas to see him watching me curiously.

“Um, Edith did count them once… 31, I believe. Why?”

Well that didn’t fit. I needed, 13 or 26 of something, and one or two of something else to represent the one at the beginning and end. Unless…

I counted the number of characters in Beelphegor's Prime and found that there were 31.

666 windows, 31 rooms.

“How many chimneys does the house have?”

“Um, 13, I think.”

“And wings?”

“Four, although that’s unofficial.”

Damn, that didn’t fit.

“Entrances?”

“Two, a main door and the servants’ entrance.”

1+1=2, the number ones at the beginning and end. 

666 windows, 31 rooms, 13 chimneys and 2 entrances. This was a house built for Beelphegor.

“I think I know who Lucille is,” I told him. “Or the name of what possessed her.”

He came over and I laid out the evidence for him, in a rather frantic manner, I admit, but he kept up with me. My heart was pounding (with excitement rather than fear for once) and hope bloomed in my heart because now we had a name and that could help us defeat her.

“So she is a demon,” he said with a sad sigh.

I turned to look at him. “Did you doubt that?”

Thomas looked away and walked to the window, keeping his back to me.

I waited for him to speak but when he finally did, it was to ask, “Do we know how to kill her?”

“Um, not yet,” I admitted.

“Then that should be our next move,” he said, his voice flat and lifeless. He came and sat next to me and I wondered why he was so subdued.

“Are you alright?”

He turned to me and offered me a weak smile.

“I’m fine.”

I didn’t believe him.

And who could blame him? He’d just had confirmation that the girl he was raised with, that he loved like a sister, was demonic. That would upset even the most cheery souls, I should think.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

Now that we had a name, our research kicked into high gear and I ordered every book I could find that mentioned Beelphegor.

Halloween was getting closer though and each time I thought of what might happen, I felt as though my stomach dropped out.

I could tell as the day got closer because Lucille, or Beelphegor as she really was, began to flick the lights again when we made love, growing stronger with each passing day.

I honestly wasn’t sure why I was still sleeping with Thomas, considering that I didn’t completely trust him ut in bed with him though was the only time I felt good, and I needed the distraction.

It was strange, almost as if he was some kind of supernatural being and I was under his thrall. I didn’t really believe that, but equally I couldn’t explain why he was hiding things from me, and the nagging doubt that he was not on my side remained. I second guessed almost all his actions.

The day before the books began to arrive we went shopping, literally stockpiling food since I had no idea how long it would be before we could shop again. Thomas was fascinated by everything he saw, especially brightly coloured packets, such as crisps, sweets, cereals and cakes. Once I explained what a ready meal was, he was also fascinated by those, especially foreign meals, like Indian, Chinese and Italian, and he made me promise to explain to him how a microwave worked. I could show him, but explaining it was beyond me.

I had to tell him ‘no’ an awful lot, either because I knew the food wouldn’t get eaten within its sell by date, or because we just had far too much already, but he was so enthused about everything that we ended up buying at least four weeks’ worth of food, mostly non-perishables that we could take when we left.

At one point I lost track of Thomas between shops and was on the verge of calling the police. The only reason I hesitated was because, well, how do you report a missing person who doesn’t legally exist?

The more time went on, the more worried I became. He didn’t know this time or our ways and could easily fall victim to street crime or something. I admit, my imagination may have been a tad overactive but right now it was us against the world, well, the underworld, and the thought of losing him made me feel sick.

I knew he was probably safe, off running an errand that he didn’t want time to know about, but even although I didn’t trust him, my need for him was greater.

I waited by my car for as long as I could, then decided to retrace our steps until found Thomas walking towards me, seemingly relieved to see me.

“I’m so glad I found you,” he smiled. “Everything’s changed so much since my time, I hardly knew where I was.”

“Where did you go?” I asked.

“A window display caught my eye and when I turned back, you were gone.”

It sounded plausible but I didn’t know if I believed him.

The tension was broken on the drive back though, because he insisted on openings a few things in the car. I had to laugh when he tried milk chocolate; the look on his face was positively orgasmic.

His reaction to the chilli pizza I made for lunch however, was priceless. He cheerfully munched his way through the first two mouthfuls, then he must have got a slice of pepper.

“Oh my! My word. This is what you meant by hot spicy?” His eyes were starting to water.

“You can't say I didn’t warn you.” I hadn’t had any because I hate spicy food, and this had three peppers on the label, which is pretty much as hot as you can get.

“No, no I think perhaps next time, I will heed your caution.” He picked up his glass of water and downed it in one go, so I went to get him a glass of milk.

“Here,” I placed the glass in front of him. “It’s the best thing to counteract chillies.”

“Thank you.” He downed that in two goes, then looked at the rest of the pizza as though it was poison and he was psyching himself up to eat it anyway.

“Do you want half my sandwich?” I asked.

“Would you mind?” he looked like an eager puppy.

“Not at all.” I handed him half with amusement, and held by tongue as Thomas got through another three glasses of water and one of milk that afternoon.

Our moments of levity never lasted long though because as the days wore on, I found myself distrusting him more and more. He was usually the first awake in the morning and although he was always in the kitchen, I couldn’t help but wonder how long he’d been up. Had he been out of the apartment?

One of the books I ordered had a single page torn out. Now it could have been done years ago, the book was second hand, printed in 1964, and no book seller had time to check that every page was intact. I couldn’t help wondering though, had Thomas interfered with our reading literature?

It really wasn’t like me to be paranoid though.

One missing page aside, I had learned a lot about Beelphegor, including the fact that Beelzebub himself had locked Beelphegor up in that alternative dimension. How evil did one have to be to fall out with the devil?

That thought paralysed me with fear for a moment, until Thomas noticed and kissed my fears away.

He cupped my face in his hands and softly kissed me, each kiss lasting a little longer than the last until I began to relax into him. Then he held me in his arms, kissing but also nibbling my lips, gently tugging on them with his teeth. It was a strange thing to do, almost primitive and animalistic, but I found it to be a huge turn on.

By the time he had coaxed my lips open, Lucille was pushed to the periphery of my thoughts. As he laid me down on the bed (I had no memory of even being guided here) our research had become an afterthought. When he went down on me, teasing and torturing my sex, and me, into submission, I could hardly recall Lucille or Beelphegor’s name. As he thrust inside me, filling me and making me feel complete in a way no other man ever had, I could hardly remember my own name.

The lights flickered even although we left them turned off, but I hardly noticed, and I certainly didn’t have the wherewithal to care.

Afterwards I lay on his chest and the soft thump, thump of his heartbeat continued the almost hypnotic state that I usually fell into after we made love.

I wrapped my arms around him and squeezed tightly, pressing a kiss to his chest.

“What was that for?” he asked.

‘ _Because I love you_ ,’ I thought.

“Just because,” I actually replied, unable to admit ether to him or myself, that I was head over heels in love with a man I’d met under a week ago.

Maybe Thomas wasn’t the only one with secrets.

***

Halloween was getting closer and closer, now only two days away; we still had no clue how to stop Lucille, and I trusted Thomas about as much as I’d trust a compulsive liar.

Sometimes I felt as though I was living on my very last nerve, drinking far too much coffee and often feeling too queasy to eat very much at all.

But at the same time, while we both read on the sofa my head rested in his lap while his hand stroked my hair. I felt as though I was addicted to him. Despite my worries and fears being calmed by his presence. Which is not to say I didn’t feel petrified, but his touch soothed me to the point where I could at least function and try to find a solution.

I admit though, I was starting to lose hope. What if we never found a way to trap Lucille in her dimension? What if she did manage to possess me? What would happen to Thomas? Surely she wouldn’t look kindly on him for helping me.

Unless he wasn’t helping me. My mind flashed back to the missing page, the midnight wanderings, the strange box he had hidden, of which I had been unable to find any trace.

What did it all mean?

I turned my head to look up at him now, wondering if someone so beautiful could really be evil. And if he was evil, what did that say about me? I couldn’t kill him, that much I knew already, the very thought made me feel as if I was freefalling without a parachute. I just had to pray that my instincts were wrong and he wasn’t a bad guy.

Noticing my scrutiny, he looked down at me and smiled tenderly.

“You look beautiful,” he told me.

“You too,” I replied.

His hand moved from my hair to my forehead, fingertips lightly stroking over my skin in a hypnotic rhythm, soothing me.

Someone knocked on the door, and after exchanging a questioning look with Thomas, I got up to answer, feeling slightly miffed that I had to leave his lap.

And seriously, what was wrong with me? I wasn’t even this clingy as a teenager, yet I almost always had to touch Thomas. To be fair he encouraged it and seemed to feel the same about me, but I knew, on some level, that this wasn’t normal for me.

I pushed those thoughts aside for the moment and opened the apartment door to find a staff member standing there with a letter in her hand.

“This was delivered for your companion,” she said, trying to look around me. “I’ll take it.”

“I had to sign for it, I really should make sure I give it only to him.”

She just wanted to ogle him. I couldn’t blame her but now was really not a good time to try my patience. I sighed.

“Thomas,” I snapped, and a second later he joined me, placing a calming hand on my shoulder.

I would say his gesture was possessive but it was the opposite, as though he was advertising that he was taken. Still, he gave the receptionist a warm smile. He seemed to have the ability to charm everyone, a talent I sadly lacked, especially when I was tense.

“For me?” Thomas asked the girl.

“Oh, uh, yeah,” she handed the letter over. “It looked important, so I brought it straight up.”

“Thank you so much for your trouble,” he smiled.

As we closed the door I was literally burning with curiosity. Who in the hell knew Thomas was here to be writing to him? I had a slightly sick feeling in the pit of my stomach though, so I didn’t dare ask.

He opened the letter as he sat down and I sat beside him, watching for… well I didn’t know what I was looking for really, I was just watching him like a hawk as he read.

Suddenly he let out a breath and a smile crept onto his lips.

“Oh my,” he breathed.

I had visions of Lucille having found a host and writing to tell Thomas to join her.

“Oh, this is such good news,” he turned to me and smiled.

Despite his warm smile, my heart was in my throat and my palms were sweating. I was turning into some paranoid deluded… something.

“My mother was of a slightly suspicious disposition,” he began. “She constantly thought the staff was stealing from her and she liked to hide things. She had little hiding places all over this house for various trinkets, some of which I’m sure I didn’t even know about. I knew all our assets would now belong to the new owner of the house and even if I could claim the money that they paid for the property, I can't prove who I am, so no one would believe me.”

“Okay...”

“I knew some of Mother’s hiding places though, so I went looking the other night and I found her jewellery box, untouched.”

“But like you said, it doesn’t belong to you.”

“But the people who bought the house don’t know anything about it, they won’t miss it. it wasn’t included in the appraisal of the property or listed on the auction.”

I supposed not, although it seemed a little dishonest.

“Here,” he handed me the letter, which was from a well-known London auction house. I scanned the top part of the letter, then at the bottom was a list of items and estimated valuations.

“The other day in town, I slipped off to visit a jewellers and showed them some of mother’s jewellery. He told me he could give me a valuation but to make real money, I should sell them through someone in London. It seems he went ahead and sent pictures and his appraisal to the firm, and this is their estimates.”

_Natural pearl and diamond necklace and a brooch, 19th century: The necklace composed of a line of millegrain_ _set circular_ _cut diamonds, accented with five button to slightly baroque button shaped natural pearls measuring from approximately 6.85 x 7.50 x 6.80mm to 8.45 x 9.55 x 8.00mm, alternating with brilliant_ _cut diamond quatrefoil motifs, length approximately 380mm, may be worn as two bracelets measuring 187 and 190mm, or the central pearl segment may be worn with an additional brooch fitting; and a bar brooch en suite, the natural pearl measuring approximately 7.65 x 8.00mm Estimate: £15,000_ _£20,000_

Holy SHIT!

_Sapphire, half_ _pearl and diamond pendant/brooch, late 19th century… Estimate: £9,000_ _£13,000_

_Sapphire and diamond ring, early 19_ _th century… Estimate £20,000_ _£30,000_

_Natural pearl and diamond brooch and a natural pearl ring, late 19th century… Estimate £30,000_ _£50,000_

I looked on the next two sheets and found that the list went on to describe another nine items.

“I told you I’d repay you for your kindness, didn’t I?”

I glanced up at him to see him watching me with an eager smile on his face.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” I felt tears stinging my eyes; how could I have doubted him?

“I didn’t know how much they were worth,” he said. “I couldn’t stand to raise your hopes and find out that antiques were worthless in this time. I wanted to wait until I was sure I could build a future for us, a secure life together. Please don’t be upset.”

I was upset and couldn’t stop my tears from spilling over, but I wasn’t upset with him.

I couldn’t believe that I had nearly let my suspicions drive me away from him. Here I was, thinking his sneaking around must have a nefarious explanation but instead, he was willing to sell heirlooms to pay back his debt to me. Well, he probably wanted this money to start a life here too.

“I’m sorry,” I said, throwing my arms around his neck.

“What for?” he sounded amused as he returned my embrace.

“Doubting you,” I explained. “I heard you creeping around one night, and I knew you hadn’t got lost in town. I thought…” I didn’t even want to voice what I thought.

“Hush, Katherine, Beelphegor makes people paranoid, remember? It’s not your fault. If anything I’m the one who is sorry for making you worry,” he said sincerely. “I didn’t realise you had seen me. I had a tendency to play my cards close to my chest. When you live in a, what did you call it, a murder house? When you live in a murder house, you tend to become quite circumspect, but I never wanted to worry you, my darling.”

My tears were slowing and I pulled away, wiping at my eyes.

“It’s not your fault,” I assured him. “The world has become a lot more cynical since you left it.”

He kissed me softly and my skin tingled from the contact. If this man was a drug and I was addicted, it was time for my next hit. I deepened the kiss, pressing my tongue into his mouth as I crawled onto his lap.

His hands found my bum and he massaged it, making me grind my sex over his crotch.

He growled and nipped at my lower lip, which both shocked me and made me laugh.

“I think we need to adjourn to the bedroom,” he said in a deep, lust filled voice.

“I couldn’t agree more.”

My lust stemmed from a desire to make up for my suspicions, his was just natural. He may hail from the stuffy, uptight Victorian era, but the man was literally sex on legs, so much so that even with over a hundred years, Kinsey, sex education, and porn literally at our fingertips, Thomas was the best lover I had ever had.

And he proved that again as he kissed his way down my body, settling between my legs. He didn’t go straight for my sex, as every other lover I’ve ever had would, instead he began with my thighs, then he covered my mons with kisses. Only when I was writhing with need, begging him to stop teasing me, did he part my lips and tease my clit.

Still, my torment was far from over as he continued to tease me to the point of distraction. I fisted my hands in his hair and tried to urge him on but he ignored me, and when I pulled too hard, he grabbed my wrists and pinned them down.

When he finally brought me to orgasm, I screamed. I actually screamed.

Then he crawled up my body and slid his length into my hot sheath, setting off another smaller climax, and prolonging my pleasure as he took his own.

When he finally spilled his seed inside me, I was feeling totally relaxed.

As Thomas rolled onto his back, he took me with him and, languid and boneless, I stayed on top, not even having the strength to settle myself more comfortably against him.

I knew that these times were indulgent, the clock was ticking and we had no answers, but without them I thought I might go insane from the tension I felt the rest of the time.

Right now though, as I let go a contented sigh, I couldn’t find the will to care. There would be time enough to care when this interlude was over, but for right now I was at peace. ***

The Halloween Masquerade Ball was being put on to highlight the house’s ability to cater functions, and I had to attend as part of my contract for staying here, so that I could report on it in my review and articles.

I’d bought my dress and mask before coming here so I was prepared, but I wasn’t looking forward to it.

We still hadn’t found a way to stop Lucille and I was worried because Samhain was the day when she was strongest in this realm. What if she tried to possess me? Well, no, she _would_ try to possess me. And she would succeed because I had no way of fighting her off.

I’d been preoccupied with such thoughts all day but I was doing my best to focus on the book I was reading; surely one of them must have a solution?

“Katherine?”

We were at opposite ends of the sofa but my feet were in his lap and the fingers of his free hand were caressing my calves and ankles. I looked over to him, my expression questioning… and probably terrified. I felt as tense as a cat at a dog show.

“I think I may be onto something.”

I swung my legs down and shuffled over the sofa until I could see his book, but it seemed to be written in another language. I didn’t remember buying any foreign books but I had bought so many, any that references Beelphegor, new and secondhand, so it was more than possible that I just hadn’t realised one wasn’t in English. I’d spent over two thousand all in all because while there weren’t hundreds of books, some of the older ones were hellishly expensive.

“There’s two things,” Thomas began, flipping to an earlier part of the book. “This here is a recipe for a protective potion which will ward off evil. It’s generic and it may not work on Beelphegor specifically, but this book is about demonology, so it certainly can't hurt to try.”

I looked down at the page, titled Possessionem Videntibus Vulvam.

“What’s in it?” I asked.

“Sage, fennel, mugwort, tarragon, vervain and just a touch of garlic; nothing harmful. The really helpful bit though is here,”

He flipped back to the middle of the book. “This is a banishment charm for higher order creatures.”

“Is that Latin?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, so what does it say?”

“As I said, it’s a ritual to banish Beelphegor. This, or a variation on it, may well have been what was used to trap her before.”

“Okay, so tell me what I need to do?”

It sounded relatively simple actually, but Thomas assured me he would write a phonetic translation out so I could read and memorise it. Basically, I had to find some kind of charm that was connecting the two worlds, which would be where the connection to Beelphegor was strongest. Then I had to light six candles, chant in Latin until I felt ‘something’ (he couldn’t tell me what, exactly), then seal the spell by blowing out the candles and spilling some of the wax.

Only trouble was, we didn’t have candles or the herbs he wanted for the protective potion, so we headed into town. I went and bought some candles and cheap holders, then visited a catholic church so I could dip them in Holy Water, and to save time, Thomas hunted for an herbal shop for the ingredients for his protective brew.

I’d be lying if I said his herbal brew didn’t remind me of the tea Lucille made for Edith, but to date all my suspicions about Thomas had been unfounded. That wasn’t going to stop me checking on the ingredients he bought later, but I would try to do so surreptitiously.

I also had to admit that I felt a twinge of hope, although I forced it back down. Yes, it would be wonderful if we had a solution but I didn’t dare believe it yet.

The candles were easy to find and the Catholic Church wasn’t hard, but it was a fairly long walk. Once inside I took a seat in a pew and took out the incantation instructions that Thomas had translated for me.

It said the candles had to be anointed in holy water. Suddenly unsure what anointed meant (did it mean dumped in water? Because if so the wick would need drying out) I took my phone out and looked the term up.

It meant smeared or rubbed with something, so rub the water on the candles. I could manage that.

I put my phone and instructions away, then looked up when a shadow fell over me.

“May I help you, Miss?”

The priest stood over me. He was younger than I would have expected.

“I’m sorry, I’ll go.”

“Please don’t,” he smiled and sat in the pew in front of me, but sideways so he could still see me. “I’d hate to chase you off, we’re here for anyone who needs us, but you looked troubled and I wondered if you’d like a friendly ear.”

Talk about an understatement.

“Where to start,” I joked.

“If you want, just start talking. The rest will take care of itself.”

What did I want to talk about?

“Do you believe in evil?” I found myself asking.

“I do,” he nodded. “There is no doubting that men are capable of great evil. However, people are also capable of great good, and no one is all good or all evil.”

“Are you sure about that?” I asked.

“I’m sure.” He sounded certain. “All you have to do it look into the eyes of a baby to know that we are not born bad. Evil is learned, it’s not innate.”

His words hung in the air for a few long moments.

“What about other… entities?” I asked in a small voice.

“You mean the devil?”

I shrugged. I could hardly tell him I was about to be possessed by a demon, he’d think I was mad.

“I’m not sure if the Devil is real, but then I don’t have proof that God is, either. I have faith however, and even if the Devil isn’t real, there is no doubting that we are all tempted into doing wrong at various points in our lives, so even if he doesn’t exist, the concept of a devil is still valid.”

I didn’t know if I could take any solace from his words or not.

“We should never forget however, that the Devil began life as an Angel, so not even he was all bad.”

“Do you think he can be saved?” I asked, not really sure why but the question popped into my head.

“If the Devil repents and begs forgiveness, then he absolutely can be saved. The real question is, will he do that?”

As nice as it would be if Lucille, or Beelphegor, decided to repent, I seriously doubted it would happen in time to save me.

I looked into the priest’s eyes. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” he smile at me. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

I felt embarrassed saying anything but now I knew he was here, I could hardly sneak around and do it, could I?

“I, uh, I was going to anoint some candles with holy water, if that’s all right, so I can light them when I…” I blushed, ‘ _so I can light them when I fight a demon later_ ’. Yeah, that would go down well. “It’s silly.”

“Give me the candles,” he said and I did.

He stood up and, worried what he was about to do, I followed him to the font. To my surprise he anointed each candle with water and recited some kind of Latin prayer over them, then he handed them back to me with a smile.

“Now you can light them while you pray,” he told me.

Light them when I _pray_ , yeah, that would make more sense.

“Thank you, Father.”

“My pleasure. Come back any time.”

“I’m only up here on holiday.”

“The offer still stands, and I’ll keep you in my thoughts and prayers.”

“Thank you.” I slipped the candles into by bag and backed away. “Goodbye.”


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Back at the apartment I made a point to take the bag Thomas was carrying from him and unpack it in the kitchen, along with my candles.

He’d also bought a pestle and mortar, which had surprised me until I saw that the herbs were dried but whole, and a teapot and strainer.

“So show me how to make this brew,” I said, lining the bags of herbs up on the side. Mugwort, sage, fennel, vervain, garlic salt and tarragon. The clear plastic bags had press closed fastenings at the top and varied in size, the smallest having an off white powder and the largest ones had dried leaves in. The front of the bags were labelled in old fashioned calligraphy.

I stepped back and got my phone out while I watched him work.

First he put the kettle on, then he added two of everything leafy to the mortar, then added half a teaspoon of the garlic salt and ground them all together with the pestle. Once everything was crushed, he tipped the mix into the teapot, then added one cup of boiling water and left it to steep.

While I kept one eye on him, I was looking up the ingredients on my phone. I was pretty sure sage, tarragon and fennel were safe, but I looked them up just in case, and I had no clue what mugwort and vervain were. They turned out to be safe though. And garlic salts were exactly what they sounded like, even though I hadn’t encountered them before.

“It will probably taste awful,” he admitted. “But it will keep you safe.”

“How long should we leave it?”

“Five minutes should do it.”

We waited in silence and I wondered if I was really going to drink this stuff.

I stared at Thomas, hoping to see something in his countenance that reassured me. He must have felt the weight of my gaze as he turned to me and approached.

“You’re worried,” he said, coming to stand in front of me. “It’s okay, you have every right to be. I’m sorry this is happening to you.”

He took ahold of my hips and lifted me up onto the kitchen counter, so we were about the same height, then he stepped between my knees and cupped my face in his hands.

“I think you’re so brave,” he said. “I’ve had a lifetime to come to terms with Lucille and… and what she is. You’ve been thrown in at the deep end, and I’m so sorry.”

I smiled at him.

“This will work,” he assured her. “You have to believe that, and then you and I can begin our lives together, properly.”

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“Begin our lives?”

I nodded.

“It means that I love you, Katherine Blunt, and I want to spend my life with you. Right now the only thing stopping us is my sister but as soon as she is taken care of, we’ll be free. I’ll sell the jewellery, and we must check mother’s other hiding places before we leave, then we’ll buy a little house somewhere, I’ll learn about modern times, find a profession or business, and we’ll build a life together, become a family.”

While I couldn’t picture Thomas in a ‘little house’, he did paint such a nice picture and I desperately wanted to believe that we could have it.

It was insanity to feel that way, we’d barely known each other a week but if I was honest, I loved him too. Insane, yes, but true.

He looked into my eyes and all I could see there was vulnerability and honesty. I smiled at him and Thomas leaned forward and kissed me. Most of our clinches had been passionate but this one was gentle, loving, and exquisitely tender. I actually felt teary when he pulled away.

“It should be ready.” He smiled lovingly at me. “Are you?”

“I think so.”

Thomas stepped away and strained the tea into a cup, then he handed it to me.

“It may still be hot,” he warned, stepping between my legs again and placing his hands on my knees, his thumbs softly rubbing over the fabric of my jeans.

I tentatively sipped the concoction, which was awful. I knew my only chance of getting it down was in one go, but it was too hot for that.

“Can I dilute it with cold water?”

“I don’t see why not.” He took the cup and added a little cold water from the tap then handed it back.

I tipped it up to my lip and it was warm but not too hot, so I stared down into the cups contents.

This was it, right here, to trust or not to trust.

If I trusted him, this could all be over soon and we could get on with our lives.

If I distrusted him, I was no further forward; I had no other solutions.

I looked into his eyes and under the power of his loving gaze, I felt ashamed for doubting him.

“Bottom’s up,” I said, my voice far softer than intended, then I downed the liquid in one go.

I retched a few times but managed to keep it down, although I still felt queasy.

“Come and rest on the sofa with me,” he said, and led me into the other room.

He sat down and I laid on the sofa, my head on his lap, facing him, and I wrapped my arms around him and settled against him.

“This will all be over soon, my love,” he crooned.

I was surprised to realise that my eyelids felt heavy but when I rested them for a moment, I quickly drifted off to sleep.

***

When I awoke, Thomas hadn’t moved, he still cradled me against him, and he smiled as I roused. He’d sat there patiently while I dozed, with nothing to do.

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty.”

“How long was I out?” I demanded, worried I’d slept overnight or something.

“Just an hour or so.”

“You should have moved me!”

“Never!” he grinned. “How do you feel?”

The nausea had passed and I felt pretty good.

“I’m okay.” I said, sitting upright. “So, I guess we should get on with the next part of the plan.” He looked puzzled.

“Exorcising Beelphegor.”

“It’s too soon,” he cautioned. “We need the barriers to be at their weakest, which is Samhain, tomorrow evening, and you need at least three doses of the brew for it to be effective.”

“So what do we do until then?”

Thomas smirked. “I had a few ideas.”

***

That night I awoke to hear Thomas’ voice but I couldn’t make out his words. I made my way to the bathroom and pressed my ear to the door but they were so thick that it didn’t help.

I hated that I still suspected him, so I opened the door, blinking against the bright light.

“You okay?” I asked, shielding my eyes as I entered.

“I’m fine,” he smiled.

“I heard you talking to someone.”

He actually blushed.

“Myself,” he gestured to the mirror and rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “Rehearsing. I uh, I wasn’t going to say anything to you, not until… I didn’t want to jinx tomorrow night.”

Here I was thinking that he was talking to someone and he was practicing proposing. What was wrong with me?

“I’m sorry, I­”

He approached and wrapped me in an embrace.

“Let’s just go back to bed,” he suggested. “We can talk about the future when we know we’ll have one.”

***

I had drunk more of the tea before bed, then again in the morning, then at lunchtime, and finally two hours before we headed down to the party. It was still foul but it didn’t make me quite so queasy any more.

My dress was a midnight blue, velvet, floor length gown, very regal and elegant. My mask was a classic Venetian resin mask, overlaid with midnight blue lace detail. It was exquisite.

Tom wore one of his new suits, sans tie, and he would borrow a mask from the organisers (we’d asked and been informed that they always had spares). He looked very handsome.

I had to have a tour of the catering facilities before the party started. Then, while everyone was having drinks before the meal, we would slip away to the basement, where Thomas had found the stone needed for the spell.

I was nervous but determined, and also a little relieved. One way or the other, this was going to be over tonight.

“Ready?” Thomas asked, coming into the bedroom as I put my earrings on.

I nodded and picked up my mask on my way out, sweeping past him.

Thomas halted me by the door though, taking my shoulders and turning me to face him. He looked me over, from top to bottom and, back again, his eyes lingering on every curve.

“You look stunning,” he told me.

I smiled shyly. I’d gone through the motions of getting ready but was too preoccupied to enjoy the process, and Thomas had just reminded me why we women went through all that fuss. Truth be told, I didn’t like dresses but I would definitely think about wearing them more if it got this reaction.

“Ready?” he asked.

I nodded. “Let’s go.”

The tour of the catering facilities was boring but necessary, and I took notes because I knew I wouldn’t remember any of this later. They had done an amazing job decorating the hall and tables, but I was in no mood to appreciate it so I took pictures for the articles (and for my own reference later).

I hadn’t done any work on any of the articles I was supposed to write; it’s kind of hard to worry about deadlines when there’s a demon intent on possessing you.

By the time our tour was over, people were beginning to congregate in the bar for drinks, so we put our masks on and joined them, accepting a complimentary orange juice because I needed to keep my head clear. Once a few more people had joined, Thomas and I slipped away.

I had stood at the basement steps earlier today, when Thomas came down here to search for some stone the spell needed, but something about the energy in this place had creeped me out and I hadn’t been able to make myself descend. Thomas had urged me to save my courage for tonight, so I had gone back to the apartment and wait for him.

Now I felt rather absurd standing here in a ball gown, but at least I could remove my mask and feel slightly less silly.

I looked over to Thomas, who had also pulled his mask off.

“It’s okay, I’ll be with you, we’re in this together.”

I nodded, unable to talk right now.

“I wish I could do this for you,” he told me, and I believed him. “Come on.” He went ahead, taking my hand and urging me to follow.

There was only emergency lighting on the staircase, the kind that is always on so people can’t have accidents in the dark. Once at the bottom, Thomas hit the light switch, flooding the cavernous room before us with fluorescent light.

There looked to be vats down here, although these days they were filled with supplies and although the party upstairs had cleared a lot of things out, there were still a few stacks of chairs sitting in the pits.

Unfortunately, the only thing that came to mind on seeing them was John Haigh, who held the mistaken belief that _corpus delicti_ meant the body of the victim (rather than the body of the crime, or body of evidence) and thought that without a body, he couldn’t be convicted. They called him the Acid Bath Murderer because he killed and dissolved the remains of at least 6 people in acid baths.

I don’t know if Thomas could read something in my face, but he explained.

“They were for processing the clay pulled from the mines below.”

I nodded absently.

“Where should I…?”

“Near where I found the ingot is probably best.” He pointed.

I nodded and took a step towards the corner of the room. My hands were shaking, and that only increased when the lights flickered.

“Hey,” Thomas came up behind me and put his hands on my shoulders. “You can do this,” he told me. “I believe in you.”

I was still trembling but his words did give me strength. He came with me to the corner and took my bag from me, taking the candles and small glass holders out, then he helped me set them up in a circle, about a meter across.

The ingot that the spell spoke of, a mystical thing that tied Lucille to the house, Thomas had explained, seemed to have been chipped out of one of the foundation stones. I vaguely wondered how it got into the middle of a solid stone foundation block, then I remembered; ‘magic’. Next I wondered how he knew which stone to chip away at, since the others all looked the same to me, but maybe it had been marked somehow, before he smashed the face to get to the ingot.

It most resembled a sort of oddly shaped gold bar, but was made from something heavier, like lead, which was seemingly fused with things I couldn’t identify. The feeling it gave me was utterly repellent and although I daren’t touch it, I knew I had to.

This was it, make or break, now or never but when the lights flickered again, hard enough to blow one of the fluorescent bulbs, I lost my nerve and wrapped my arms around Tom. He returned the embrace, holding me tightly.

“She knows,” I whispered, my voice quavering.

“I know, which is why we can’t afford to wait much longer.”

He was right, I was just going to have to suck it up and plough ahead. One way or another, this would all be over soon, and that thought was a huge relief.

I pulled out of the hug and took my bag back from Thomas, taking the lighter from it before handing it back.

“Prodiit nos receperint vos?” I said, just to be sure I had it right.

He nodded. “Repeat it until you feel something.”

“What does ‘feel something’ even mean? Feel what?”

“I can’t say with certainty. The book was written before electricity though, so they probably had to guess when they’d been siccessful. Given Lucille’s propensity to play with lights, I would say that will be our biggest indicator.”

I nodded. The lights were still flickering but not badly enough affect what we were doing.

“Okay, I can do this. I can do this.”

I grabbed the ingot and dropped it on the middle of the circle, unwilling to hold it for any longer than necessary. Then, raising the hem of my dress, I stepped into the middle of the candles and knelt down, before lighting all the candles, taking care the whole while not to touch the ingot. I took a deep breath and began the chant Thomas had taught me.

“Prodiit nos receperint vos. Prodiit nos receperint vos. Prodiit nos receperint vos.”

The lights were flashing so badly now that it was almost a strobe effect, so I closed my eyes and tried to clear my mind, as the spell instructed me to do.

“Prodiit nos receperint vos. Prodiit nos receperint vos.”

I continued to chant, waiting for something new to happen, something worse, something different, something to signal that what I was doing was working.

My doubts began to surface; what if this didn’t work? What if Beelphegor possessed me? Or hurt Thomas? I should have told him to leave, not just the basement but the house, to leave while he could, not selfishly keep him with me because I was afraid to do this alone.

“Prodiit nos receperint vos. Prodiit nos­”

Suddenly I felt something. It was hard to describe, almost like a strong wind coming at me from all directions, except it didn’t move anything. It did however, rob me of my breath. I doubled over as the feeling intensified. My skin felt tight, my head pounded as if I had a migraine and my heart fluttered like a hummingbird.

I had to clench my jaw to keep from crying out in pain, but I was doing my best to continue repeating the chant through clenched teeth. The lights began to explode around me and then nothing.

Everything stopped.

I fell forward onto my hands, panting as though I had just run a marathon.

Tentatively I opened my eyes. My head still pounded and I felt sick, but I thought it was over.

“Thomas?”

I looked around for him and saw him lying on the floor looked dazed, then I noticed the fallen light fitting near him.

“Thomas!” I dashed over to him, giving little thought to the burning candles.

He looked into my eyes as I hovered above him.

“Did she do it?”

“I did,” I assured him. “It’s over.”

He tried to sit up and I helped him, kneeling beside him. I checked his head over for wounds; he wasn’t bleeding but he did have a bit of an egg on the crown of his head.

“I’m fine,” he said, pulling my hand away. “I’m fine.”

“We did it,” I smiled at him.

He returned my smile but his seemed slightly melancholy. Still, he was injured and in pain so I didn’t think much of it.

“Shit! I exclaimed, turning back to the candles. “I didn’t spill the wax.” I returned to the circle and blew each candle out, knocking it over so the wax spilled into the floor. “Do you think that’s all right?” I asked Tom. “I didn’t leave it too long?”

“I’m sure everything will be fine,” he reassured me.

“Let’s go up to the apartment,” I suggested.

Tom nodded and got to his feet, and I rushed over to help him. I would have left the candles and the ingot, there were more important things going on right now, but Tom went over and picked them up, so I grabbed my bag to store them in. I glanced around one last time, looking for anything that could be used to identify me; I really didn’t feel like being blamed for the damage to the stone and lights down here.

As we left the basement, I didn’t exactly feel great; I had a headache and still felt queasy, but I was sure those feelings would pass.

Once on his feet Thomas seemed okay, and we climbed out of the basement together, although I cast one look back before he turned the main lights off and could see nothing amiss. Halfway up the stairs however, I felt a terrible cramping in my stomach and doubled over as I let out a small cry of pain.

“Katherine!” Tom was at my side in a second. “Are you alright?”

The pain was quickly passing now but I took a few deep breaths. “I think so.”

“Here.” Before I could protest, he swept me into his arms.

“You have a head injury, put me down.”

“I’m fine,” he smiled at me, then tightened his grip when I tried to wriggle out of his arms, admonishing me to, “Behave!”

Honestly, with the ever present fear of the last week and a bit, the crescendo of terror I’d felt this evening and whatever that spell did to me, I was exhausted and in no mood to argue. If he said he was fine, he was fine.

Thomas carried me through to the bedroom before he placed me on my feet.

“Early night,” I said, stripping out of my dress and letting it fall to the floor. “Best idea you’ve ever had.”

Another crippling cramp overtook me and I felt a twinge of fear.

“It’s okay,” Thomas said, appearing at my side in a second. “It’s probably just a reaction to the ritual and after a good night’s sleep, you’ll be fine again.”

He guided me to the bed and settled me under the covers, then he quickly removed the rest of his clothes and climbed in the other side, sliding over to spoon me and gently rubbing my tummy where it had hurt.

“Ssh,” he crooned softly, “Just try to relax and sleep, darling, everything will feel better in the morning, I promise.”

I hoped he was right but I was too tired to think much about it.

***

I awoke in the morning to a strange feeling; hope.

As soon as I opened my eyes, I felt the ever present dread that I had been living with but a moment later, I realised that we had succeeded in banishing Lucille, or Beelphegor or whatever her name was. We were free.

Free to make love without turning lighting into a fire hazard.

Free to leave this house and its ghosts far behind.

Free to make Thomas’s visions of our future come true.

He was still spooning me but I turned gently in his arms and gaze upon his sleeping countenance. He looked so peaceful, without that little frown line that had often marred the space between his brows recently.

With any luck, we could both be this peaceful in our waking hours from now on too.

Well okay, life still had plenty of stresses and strains, but nothing like we’d just endured. The hassle of something like moving house would be a welcome relief compared to the last two weeks. And we would have to move house at some point, my little home really wasn’t fit for someone like Thomas, who was used to a mansion.

But all that could wait because right now, I just wanted to enjoy being with him.

We only had two more days here and I couldn’t decide whether to book another week and try to enjoy the house, or leave immediately. I had expected to associate the house with bad memories but the thought of staying on didn’t bother me because despite the house’s gruesome past, it was part of Thomas’s history, part of him essentially and for that reason alone, I could never dislike this place.

Not that I was voluntarily going into the basement ever again; the very memory of going down there made me shudder.

Thomas stirred and smiled without opening his eyes.

“Good morning,” he mumbled in his sleep filled, gravelly morning voice.

“Morning,” I replied.

Thomas sighed and reached out for me, pulling me flush against him, finally cracking his eyes open.

“How are you?” he asked me.

“I’m okay,” I assured him. “I feel kind of hopeful, actually.”

“Only kind of?” he smiled.

“A part of me is expecting the other shoe to drop,” I admitted. “Is she really gone?”

His smile turned into a smirk. “One way to find out.”

“You’ve been awake all of sixty seconds,” I laughed.

“And I’ve been looking at you for thirty of those seconds, of course I’m aroused!”

“Charmer.”

Thomas’s hands began wandering, one to my bum and the other to my breasts and I returned the favour, grasping his length. Morning wood can be a very good thing. Our love making was less urgent this morning but no less passionate, and Thomas proved that his skill in the bedroom wasn’t limited to distracting me.

Not a single light turned on or flickered.

“She’s really gone, isn’t she?” I asked as I lay, basking in the afterglow with my head on his chest.

“It’s over,” he agreed.

When we got up we had breakfast in the restaurant, then Thomas wanted to show me around the grounds so we went for a walk, and I listened attentively as he told me stories of how things used to be or look, and shared some of his happier memories of living here.

I also discovered that Thomas had quite the playful and teasing nature at times. I’d seen signs of it before, but I had been too stressed to enjoy it, and rather likely to issue a sharp retort. Now though, the sound of my laughter could be heard ringing out over the hills and dales as he first tickled, then playfully chased me through the grounds of his childhood home.

We agreed to stay on for another week, so when we got back to the house I arranged it with reception. Luckily, since they had only recently opened and were not fully booked, that was no problem.

That afternoon I really had to knuckle down and work on my article and review, which I had all but ignored since this started. Thankfully, I had made a lot of notes so I had everything I necessary to complete it. I needed the laptop, so I set Thomas up on my tablet computer and after a brief tutorial on how to use Google and YouTube, I left him to fend for himself. He had expressed a desire understand the modern world, not just how to navigate it, but how everything worked. Unfortunately I only understood how most devices worke in the most basic sense, and things like radios and washing machines were a total mystery.

Which is why I thanked the internet for its existence; there is very little that the internet doesn’t know or can't explain.

He seemed engrossed and I smiled occasionally as he uttered things such as “Brilliant,” “Amazing!” “Ingenious.”

Even although I had no worries distracting me from my work, Thomas was his own distraction and I took all my willpower to focus on what I was doing.

Over the next few days I finished a rough draft of the article, which was going to be a feature, thus longer than usual, and my review. On the third day post Lucille, Thomas sweet talked the receptionist into giving us access to other apartments that were unoccupied and other off limits places in the house, so I could take photos for the article. It also had the side benefit of allowing Thomas to check some more of his mother’s hiding places.

“Why didn’t you check them after she died?” I asked as I watched Thomas open a secret compartment in a fireplace surround.

“It seemed disrespectful,” he explained. “Besides, there didn’t seem to be any rush, they would still be there when we wanted them.”

It made sense, I supposed.

That day he found a set of inlaid silver trinket boxes, three sets of letters bound in ribbon, a silver hip flask (which had belonged to Thomas’s father, he explained to me), and a set of medals that had belonged to his mother’s father, including a Crimean Medal, a Turkish Crimean medal and a Victoria Cross. Finally he unearthed a silver brush, mirror and comb set.

I enjoyed seeing the other apartments and how they differed from my own, especially the larger and more luxurious ones, and I took a lot of photos.

After that we went into town and shopped for dinner ingredients, so we could have a nice evening snuggling in front of the fire. I decide to make a chicken casserole, which would leave more time for snuggling while it slowly cooked. I realised we should have just nuked something we already had when Thomas’s eyes lit up as we entered the shop. Again we left with far more than we needed.

Thomas spent the afternoon on his tablet while I prepared the meal (I didn’t mind, I love cooking). Thomas was engrossed in his readings and I smiled each time I glanced at him across the island that separated the kitchen area from the living room.

Sometimes I felt so ridiculously lucky to have found someone like him, someone so loving, attentive, intelligent and educated. Truth be told, he was way out of my league.

I reached into the condiments cupboard for some salt and one of the herb bags fell out and landed face down so when I picked it up, with most of the contents gone I could see through to the back of the label.

Frowning I turned it to the front, which read ‘Tarragon’. Turning it around again, I may have been reading backwards but it definitely did not read tarragon. I examined the label and saw that it actually had two, one on top of the other.

I tried to read the backwards writing.

Annodalleb. Belladonna. Deadly nightshade. An ancient poison.

It was the berry that killed, not the leaves but still, they couldn’t be good for you. No wonder I felt so bad after drinking the tea.

I checked the other herbs and saw that they all had false labels too.

I felt sick to my stomach and my hands were shaking.

Why? I couldn’t understand any of this but I knew my intuition had been right, I should never have trusted Thomas.

I looked over to him now and wondered exactly how much of our relationship was a lie?


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dropped a bit of a bombshell on you last time. Here's where you see if your theories were right.

Chapter Nine

How I made it through the night without alerting Thomas to my suspicions I will never know, but somehow I did. I knew if I confronted him now, he would be able to explain everything away so I needed more proof before I said anything, and if he thought I was still ignorant, that evidence would be easier to collect.

I was appalled with myself that I still enjoyed making love to him and didn’t have to fake anything. I supposed that despite my fears, I still loved the bastard it seemed.

When it came time to sleep, I turned my back to him and he spooned me, resting his hand over my stomach as usual, but I didn’t close my eyes. I waited for over two hours, until I was sure he was asleep, then I slipped gently out of his embrace.

I made my way into the kitchen and collected the herbs, then I got the Latin book, where Thomashad found the tea recipe and the banishment ritual to get rid of Lucille, then I set myself up at the dining room table with my laptop.

First I checked the contents of the herb bags, since they were in English. Mandrake, belladonna, yarrow, ground mistletoe berries, spiderwort and knotweed.

Mandrake roots and berries were poisonous but not the leaves. Mistletoe caused drowsiness, which was probably why I slept after drinking it. Knotweed seemed pretty benign from a medical point of view, the worst spiderwort could do was cause a rash, and yarrow actually seemed medicinal.

Next I translated the tea recipe and ingredients directly from the book.

The page was headed Possessionem Videntibus Vulvam which I typed into google’s translation service and­

My blood ran cold and my hands began to shake.

It meant ‘possession in the womb’.

My hand went to my stomach. No wonder Thomas threw that first condom away, he’d always planned on getting me pregnant, just like Edith. I must already be pregnant or he wouldn’t have given me that disgusting potion.

I was such a fool not to insist he wore a condom, why hadn’t I? Why hadn’t I been on another form of birth control to start with? Sure, I was overcome with lust and had told myself that I could just visit the family planning clinic when I got home, but it was out of character for me to be to blasé. With the damage done once, I had allowed myself to have unprotected sex with him ever since, not giving the consequences a second though. That really was not at all like me, I was always safe.

I didn’t know if I was hurt or angry but either way, I pushed both emotions aside for now and turned to the second spell. It had no page heading so although I couldn’t understand it, I read through the page, hoping to discover where the relevant section began. When that revealed nothing, I typed both pages into a word document, then translated them through google again.

Nothing seemed relevant to what I had done, these pages seemed to be discussing the devil, or Beelzebub it called him, and bore no resemblance to the so called translation that Tom had written out for me.

I decided to translate the phrase I’d recited instead. Although I wasn’t sure where the paper Thomas had given me was, in my attempt to memorise it I’d recited it so often that I knew it by heart. ‘Prodiit nos receperint vos’ meant… ‘We welcome you to come forth’.

Holy fucking shit! He’d actually had me invite the bitch to possess my baby.

Tears stung my eyes and as hard as I tried to blink them back, I couldn’t.

My heart was breaking because the man I loved had delivered me to his demonic sister, as a vessel for her hellish spawn.

I cried for what felt like hours, until I was physically exhausted, but even so, I knew I couldn’t sleep. Instead, I made myself some tea, the regular kind, closed down my laptop and nursed my mug while I waited for Thomas to wake up.

I had a long wait, plenty of time to think about what to do next.

My emotions veered wildly between extremes. One moment I was furious, which made me grind my teeth and clench my fists, pressing my nails into my palms with enough force to draw blood. The next I felt devastated and actually felt pain in my chest as I broke down in fresh tears.

With my 20/20 hindsight, so many things were making sense now though. Why, when he’d discovered that Lucille intended to possess Edith’s baby, his only reaction had been ‘that makes sense’, because he had already known, and probably been complicit in it. Why he never seemed too worried about the possibility of my failing, because I’d been set up to fail from day one. It explained how he knew which stone the ingot was in; why his first words were not ‘did you do it?’ but ‘did she do it?’; why he seemed rather blasé about the fact that I forgot to spill the wax immediately after the spell.

Because most, if not all of the spell was fake.

It also explained why Lucille never really frightened him. I’d thought he was being strong for me, when he’d actually been her accomplice all along.

As my anger rose once more, I began to pace the room.

The absolute worst thing though, was that he’d done it all under my nose, mostly with my cooperation and the few things I had been suspicious of, him sneaking out at night, then losing me in town, appeared to be totally harmless. I might as well just have written ‘Sacrifice’ across my forehead and handed him a knife.

In my rage I threw a punch at the wall. The sharp pain that shot up my arm robbed me not only of my anger for a while, but also my voice and gasping with pain, I made my way back to the table and sat down.

Wallowing in both this fresh pain and my original miseries.

I was such a fool.

Why hadn’t I listened to my intuition and maintained my distrust of him? I could see now that I had been expertly played and manipulated, given bogus things to suspect so that when they turned out to be nothing, I would distrust my instincts and believe him, but that didn’t make me feel any less stupid.

Well that bastard was in for a few surprises when he awoke, I thought with relish.

First of all, he clearly didn’t expect me to work any of this out.

Second, his arse was getting dumped faster than you could say ‘kicked to the kerb’.

And as for the baby, Edith might not have had a choice but I certainly did. A quick trip to the family planning clinic and this baby would be history, along with its demonic hitch hiker.

Thomas emerged from the bedroom earlier than I expected, around 5am.

“Is something wrong?” he asked me, not seeing my red eyes since I was sitting in near darkness.

“That depends. Have you played me like a fiddle and offered our baby up to your demonic sister, or not?” I sounded calmer than I expected to but my distress was evident in my voice.

He didn’t even look surprised, just disappointed, and so pained that I almost felt sorry for him.

“Please, Katherine, you have to understand­”

“It’s Kate, and I don’t _have_ to do anything.”

He took the seat opposite me at the table but he kept his gaze lowered.

“I don’t know what to say,” he began.

“I know it’s probably a foreign concept, but why don’t you try the truth?”

He finally looked at me. “I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I always had your best interests at heart.”

“You’re right, it doesn’t seem like it, but go on anyway. I’m interested to see what spin you put on this.”

“First of all, you have to believe that my feelings for you are real, I swear.”

He had no clue how much I wanted to believe him, so much so that I began to cry.

“I watched you from the other place, knowing what Lucille planned, and I knew I couldn’t let her do it, possession would mean your body lived on but your soul would be torn out and not only that, but trapped in that other world where you found me! I couldn’t leave you to a fate like that so instead, I offered her a deal. I promised that, as with Edith, I would get you pregnant and let her have the child, as long as she left you alone.”

“If that was her plan with Edith, why did she plan to possess an adult this time?”

“Because her options were limited. It’s harder to possess a child than an adult, they need to be prepared with the tea beforehand and besides… you weren’t pregnant. No one here was.”

“So you provided her with that help, and of course a baby, once I freed you.”

“Yes.”

“But that could have been your plan all along.”

He looked pained at my accusation. “It could have been, yes, but it wasn’t. I love you, Kather­ Kate, and I have since the moment I saw you.”

He told such pretty lies that my heart felt as though it might shatter and my tears fell harder for a few moments.

Perversely I felt as if the only thing that would comfort me was a hug from him, and it cut like a knife to know that that could never happen again.

“Please, Kate, if you were right, why would I be planning our life together?”

“I don’t know, maybe so the baby is raised right?”

“You think I care about that? I care about you! And for what it’s worth, I hate Lucille. She took Edith from me and for that, I can never forgive her.”

“But you’re helping her!” I yelled.

“To save your life!”

I wiped my tears away, which was a futile move since the flow was continuous.

“Please, Kate, don’t do this, don’t send me away. You’ll need help when the baby comes.”

“The baby isn’t coming, Thomas, I’m aborting this abomination.”

“NO!” Thomas looked stricken. “If you do that you will free Lucille’s spirit and she will take over your body!”

“What?” That shocked me out of my self-pity for a moment.

“While Lucille possesses someone she has to bind herself to that body, just like a regular soul, or she could easily be exorcised. Once bound, just like a human soul, only death can release her. If you kill your child, you will release her.”

It sounded so plausible, not to mention that he seemed so earnest in his feelings that I almost wished it was true.

“That’s rather convenient.”

“Not convenient, truthful. And logical, a soul must be bound to its body, even a demonic one.”

“And what happens if I miscarry?”

“You won’t. Lucille would never agree to this if there was a chance you might miscarry.”

“Or that’s what she wants, then she’s out in the world, free to possess whoever she wants.”

“No, she needs the house, it amplifies her powers.”

I shook my head, blinking rapidly to try and end my tears.

The funny thing is, even after everything he’d lied about and done to me, I actually believed him.

I wasn’t anywhere near ready to let him off the hook though.

“You claim to love me, but you let me live in terror for over a week, when you could have spun your bullshit solution at any time.”

“I had no choice,” he said, sadly. His eyes were filled with tears as he silently begged me to stop.

“Why?”

His tears spilled over. “Because you’re intelligent. If I hadn’t kept you frightened, you would have seen through the ruse!”

“And let’s not forget, you had to lay the groundwork of doing suspicious shit that then turned out to be nothing, so I wouldn’t even trust myself!”

“I didn’t lie about how good your instincts are, so yes, I had to make you question yourself.” He wiped his eyes. “It had to be obvious enough that you notice, yet subtle enough that you thought you knew something I didn’t.”

God, he was a master at manipulation.

“So when I heard you talking to yourself the other night, you weren’t really rehearsing a proposal, were you?”

“No.”

“Who were you talking to?”

“Lucille.” He admitted without hesitation. “I could use the mirrors to converse with her in the other dimension.”

“And why didn’t I insist we used protection when we made love? I haven’t had unsafe sex since I was a teenager.”

“Lucille had a limited ability to influence minds, she kept you from thinking too hard about it.”

“You know,” my tears fell harder, “some of this honesty would have really been appreciated a few weeks ago, then we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“No, we wouldn’t,” he admitted. “Because you would be dead and Lucille would be walking around in your skin.”

Well… talk about brutal.

I swallowed down the feeling of vertigo that his words left me with and took a few deep breaths, determined to stop crying (at least for the time being) before the conversation continued.

“So, what happens now?” I asked.

“I rather think that’s up to you.”

I let out a brittle laugh. “Oh, that’s a good one, Thomas. Yes, I really have had a lot of say in this situation.”

He didn’t have a reply to that.

“I was talking about the baby. Apparently I’m stuck with it so what does that mean? Will the pregnancy be normal? Can she hear us speaking now? What about childhood? You grew up with her, right?”

“The pregnancy should be easy, she can’t hear us now, and her childhood will be normal. She isn’t omnipotent, she has the same limitations as most children do. As she gets older, she will come to understand who and what she is, but her powers here are limited.”

“Why is she here then, why not stay in hell?”

“She couldn’t, she was banished over a power struggle. I’m not sure when exactly, or how she was freed, but she was banished from hell to the place you found me in.”

“She said Faust freed her from there.”

“Well, someone did.”

“So what does she do here now, on Earth?”

“She collects souls.”

“How? Why?”

“The how is through bargains she strikes, she gets their soul upon their death. The why is for power.”

“What kind of power?”

“To influence events, alter probability, inspire imagination, that kind of thing.”

“Flicker lights?”

“Yes, perhaps a little telekinesis, sometimes odd things would happen around her, but nothing serious. I believe that her supernatural abilities are limited here, no matter how many souls she collects.”

“Then why does she do it?”

“For power in hell. I imagine that when you’ve been evicted by the devil himself, you need quite the arsenal upon your return.”

“So the house traps them?”

“Essentially, saving them up, preventing them from entering the afterlife, heaven or hell, until Lucille is ready to return.”

I had processed a lot of information in the past few hours and I seemed to have reached my limit and we sat in silence for a few long minutes. Thomas eventually broke the peace.

“You look tired, you need to sleep.”

“I wish I could. Tea?” I asked as I got to my feet and headed into the kitchen. I didn’t have the energy left to feel anything deeply any more.

By the time I got to the kitchen I couldn’t remember his reply, so I made him one anyway and placed it in front of him. I then took a seat on the sofa.

The next few hours were mostly silent, the silence only occasionally broken, usually by Thomas.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

“No.”

“You didn’t eat much last night. Now I know why.”

“Yes, how deceitful of me to keep my suspicions from you. I do so hope you can forgive me.” I was big on sarcasm today.

“I didn’t mean­”

“I don’t care what you meant.”

After over two hours of such nonsense conversations, I decided it was time to get ready for the day and stood up.

“Where are you going?”

“To get dressed.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

I felt as though I was experiencing the world through a filter, second hand as it were, and everything I did seemed harder and slower than before. I also took more care with my makeup this morning and although I left it simple, I took the time to cover the dark circles under my eyes with concealer and put foundation on, so I didn’t go from looking like a sunken skull, to some kind of clown with big white rings around my eyes.

I dressed in old, worn jeans, a t­shirt, and a large jumper, then I pulled on my favourite Doc Martins and army jacket; these were my comfort clothes.

“Where are you going?” Thomas asked as I walked through the apartment.

“Out.”

I couldn’t look at him, the sight of him still made me ache with the need to go to him and I was afraid I would lose my will if I did.

“Let me go with you.”

“No.”

“Please.”

“No.”

“Will you be coming back?” I could hear the catch in his voice.

I paused by the front door but didn’t turn around. This was as close as we had come to the question “is this over?” and although I knew what my answer _should_ be, I wasn’t at all sure I knew what it _would_ be.

“I don’t know.”

***

As someone who isn’t religious, and who doesn’t even like Roman Catholicism because of its sexist teachings, I was somewhat surprised to find myself in church for the second time in less than a week. Truthfully, I was here because I couldn’t stop thinking about the priest saying that babies weren’t born evil.

I sat near the back again, looking at the cross over the altar, wondering if I could really go through with this pregnancy and if not, if I could live with the consequences of freeing a demon.

“Back so soon.”

I looked up to see the priest approaching me.

“I’m glad to see you back, but sorry to see you looking so troubled.” He sat sideways in the pew in front of me, like before.

“Did you want to speak to me?” he asked when I hadn’t said anything.

I nodded. “But you’ll think I’m crazy.”

“We won’t know unless you try,” he tried to tease me.

I looked down at my hands. “Do you believe in demons?”

“Well, the bible, both new and old testaments, talks about demons and exorcisms. I’m not sure if I believe it personally though.”

Something must have shown in my expression because be rushed on.

“I am fully qualified to discuss the subject however, from a theological perspective.”

I still didn’t know if I wanted that.

“Would you like to enter the confessional?”

I looked up, surprised by the suggestion.

“Anything I hear in confessional is protected, so even if I do think you’re crazy, I cannot tell anyone.”

“Even if I’m not Catholic?”

“There are no loopholes with religion, something is either right or wrong. Repeating something I hear in the confession box is always wrong, no exceptions.”

I considered it for a moment then nodded, so he led me over to a large wardrobe like box and I took my seat.

“How do I start?”

“Have you ever done this before?”

“No.”

“Then just start talking.”

Even if he did break his word, he didn’t know who I was, so I knew I wouldn’t be carted off to the loony bin, andi made sure to leave mentions of the house name out of my story, only calling it a hotel.

I swallowed, then I began my story. It was the Sparknotes abbreviated version but once I began, it was hard to stop and everything came out. I cried towards the end but softly. Honestly, I was surprised I had any tears left.

“And you now believe you’re carrying a child that has been possessed by a demon?”

“Pretty much. Crazy, right?”

“I admit, it sounds that way. However I meant what I said before, the bible does talk of possession by demon.”

“So could I get an exorcism?” I enquired, my heart pounding at the thought.

“The church does still have some people who specialise in demonology, but the last actual Vatican sanctioned exorcism was decades ago, I don’t think there’s anyone alive qualified to do it.”

Of course not, that would be too easy.

“It also comes with a high risk of death to the possessed,” he went on. “Assuming the phenomena is real, priests are not Christ, and I’ve come across stories of many failed exorcisms, sometimes with fatal consequences.”

Maybe it made me a bad person but I didn’t want to die, especially not on the off chance that Beelphegor would be sent back to hell.

“Did you mean what you said, about no baby being born bad?” I asked.

“I did and after everything you’ve told me, I still do. Doing evil is always a choice. Always.”

“So you think there’s a chance for redemption?”

“There is always a _chance_ ,” he said with conviction.

“But the likelihood is I’ll be raising an evil creature that will spend her adulthood seducing men with money and fortune, then collecting their souls.”

There was a long pause.

“Forgive me, but do you even know if you’re pregnant?”

“I haven’t taken a test yet.”

“Then isn’t this all rather premature?”

He didn’t believe me.

It’s hard to describe how hard his words hit me, I deflated like a balloon that’s been popped.

I was stupid really, he had said from the start that he didn’t believe in the devil, so of course he didn’t believe in demons.

I just thought… well, I hoped that I had an ally, someone good, someone on God’s side. I mean yes, I’m an atheist, but you don’t start believing in demons without at least questioning whether or not God is real too.

My eyes were pricking with fresh tears and I felt an enormous urge to run.

“You’re right, I’m sure I’m imagining things. Sorry, Father.”

I bolted from the confessional and ran out of the church. He called after me but he didn’t even know my name to call it.

I ran as far as I could, then I ran on. I ran until I couldn’t run any more, until sweat poured down my face, until my lungs burned, and the stitch in my side was so bad that I had to double over, my hands on my knees while I panted.

I had nowhere else to go. I had friends and family, of course, but we weren’t close. My mother would freak out and yell at me, my brother would laugh at me, and my friends would fall somewhere between the two.

I supposed I could call the Samaritans, ‘Yes, hello? I’m carrying a demonic baby, do you have any advice for me?’

Or not.

Once I regained my breath, I walked. I had no idea where I was heading, my car was back at the church but without a destination in mind, it didn’t really matter how I complete the journey.

I reviewed my (very limited) options as I transected the park.

I didn’t want the baby but according to Thomas, I couldn’t abort it.

I knew that if I had the baby, I would have to raise it myself; her only chance of not being evil was a good upbringing, and I couldn’t be sure that would happen if I put her up for adoption.

So the question became, if I had her and kept her, would I want Thomas to be a part of our lives?

He was the person who knew most about this situation but equally, I didn’t know if I could ever completely trust him again. Plus, if push came to shove, who’s side would he be on, mine, or Lucille’s?

I probably had to speak to him and this time listen to my instincts, but I felt as though my intuition was still off balance.

Maybe that was what had me angriest of all, that Thomas had managed to make me doubt myself.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

I walked for hours and hours, until my feet ached, until the sun faded, and still I walked. I stopped only to pop into a fish shop for some fish and chips that evening, eating them as I continued to walk.

As the hour got later, the people on the streets became rowdier and when the pubs let out, I was catcalled and propositioned quite a few times. I realised that I must be in a bad part of town but I wasn’t fearful. These people were nothing compared to what was now growing inside me.

My eyes alighted on a hotel and since it was nearing midnight, I went in and booked a room, pulling my wallet from my jacket and paying with a card. When the receptionist gave me an odd look, both because of the lateness of my check-in and the fact I had no bags, I told him I had broken down nearby.

The rooms were nice and clean, but very basic. I didn’t care.

I kept the lights off as I sat in a chair by the window and looked out over the town.

I would like to be able to tell you that I ran away the next day, that I went home and cut Thomas out of my life, but I didn’t, because I didn’t want to do this alone. I didn’t know if I could raise a child on my own, especially one as special as this.

Call me cowardly, but that’s the truth.

I also believed Thomas when he said that he made this deal to save me. After all his deceptions, I know how stupid that sounds, but I couldn’t talk myself out of feeling that way.

Maybe one day, I would learn to trust my intuition again but right now, I simply had to disregard my personal feelings on truth and base my decision on evidence because the real question was, could I trust him? It didn’t matter if I forgave him or not because if I couldn’t trust him, I knew I couldn’t be with him, no matter how strong my feelings.

I was about to have a demonic child and there didn’t seem to be a way around that. I wasn’t exactly happy about that but then I wasn’t happy about dying either. This was the lesser of two evils and I had to make the best of it. Luckily I was good at doing that.

My conscience told me that I had to raise said demonic child, and love her as best I could, regardless of her origins. I had a duty to raise her well and teach her to be a well-rounded, kind, caring adult. Someone who, despite what she was, would be able to love and value humanity.

It didn’t feel as if my odds were particularly good but I had to try, right?

Thomas could certainly help with that. He had grown up with Lucille and knew better than I what to expect. Even if he wasn’t a good parent himself, just having a second pair of hands would take some of the stress off me, making it easier for me to parent well.

At some point in the night, I moved to the bed and, lying fully clothed on top of the covers, I dozed off at some point in the early hours.

I awoke to kids shouting and laughing outside and since I didn’t have my phone or a watch, I turned the TV on and saw that it was nearly 9am. I left the TV on but sank back into the bed, needing a little time to fully wake up.

I probably had to go back today. I could put it off for longer, but what would that accomplish?

After about fifteen minutes of the BBC Breakfast presenters mindless chatter, I was ready to get up and made my way to the bathroom for a hot shower, then I brushed my teeth as best I could with my finger.

I had no idea where I was, so I asked reception to call me a cab and directed it to the car park near the church.

As I drove back to the hall I felt pretty numb, to be honest and as I turned into the driveway, I paused to look at the house for a few minutes, more certain than ever that I was doing the right thing.

As I opened the door to our apartment, Thomas sat up on the sofa rubbing his face; clearly he’d spent the night there.

“You’re home,” he was about to smile but the hand I held up and my rather sober expression stopped him from becoming too joyful.

“We need to talk,” I told him, but first I needed tea, so I headed into the kitchen. While the kettle boiled, I went to brush my teeth properly and take yesterday’s make-up off.

When I came out I saw that Thomas had made a pot and brought the mugs and my sweeteners to the dining table.

“You sure it’s just tea in here?” I asked as he passed me a mug.

“I give you my word.”

‘ _Because that really counts for a lot these days_ ,’ I thought but didn’t say.

He sat opposite me and poured his own mug from the same pot, but I waited until he took a sip before doing the same.

“I was so worried,” he said sincerely.

“I was so angry,” I snapped in reply.

“And you have every right to be. I’m so sorry I hurt you.”

“But not for what you did?”

“I did the only thing I could, it was the only way to save your life.”

God, he sounded so sincere.

I sighed. “Look, I’m not saying you’re forgiven or anything like that, but if we are to have any chance at a life together, two things have to happen.”

“Anything.”

“First, you have to promise me you will be the best dad you can to the baby. And I don’t mean just spoiling her, I mean doing what’s necessary for her, which will mean disciplining her sometimes and being the bad guy but… well things have changed a lot since your day. Dads now are hands on, they help raise the children every bit as much as the mums do. I want that from you.”

“You’ll have it,” he assured me. “What else?”

“Next, you have to destroy that weird ingot stone thingy, that ties Lucille to the other dimension.”

“You want to cut her off from that place?”

“We have to.”

“You’re right,”, he nodded slowly. “If she is to have a normal life, we have to get rid of the things tethering her to her demonic side.” He looked me in the eye. “To that end, I think we have to destroy this house.”

I gasped. This place was huge, a mansion, and someone else’s property, we couldn’t just destroy it.

“This house has sentenced generations of my family to misery and no good will come of it remaining.”

“What about the souls trapped in the other dimension?” I asked

“Better they’re trapped there than we let her take them to hell, no? And if we don’t stop this now, how many more souls might join them?”

I considered all his points but destroying the house wasn’t really what worried me.

“Okay,” I agreed. “But if we do this, you better not get caught. You are not leaving me holding the baby.”

“I never had any intention of doing that,” he said sincerely. “I’m very much hoping that before she baby comes, we can be married. I realise there are a dozen reasons why that might not happen, but I will not abandon you or the baby.”

I nodded, satisfied with his answer. “So how do we do it then?”

“It won’t be easy, we’ll have to bring the whole structure down, make sure nothing survives.”

“You’re an engineer, and you know this place better than anyone.”

“Yes, and it’s definitely possible but it will take planning. We’ll also have to make sure no one is inside when it happens.”

I agreed, pleased that he had brought it up before I needed to.

“The ingot should be melted down separately,” he advised. “We can't be sure the house will burn hot enough or long enough to totally destroy it.”

He really was really putting some serious thought into this.

“The house used to have coal gas lighting, which could easily be built up enough to create an explosion, and with the judicious placement of combustible sources, we could ensure the entire house burned.”

“I don’t think we use coal gas any more, but the fireplaces here all run on natural gas. The problem is we now add a pungent scent to the gas, so any leaks can be quickly detected.”

“I’ll find some way to do it,” he assured me, and from the determined gleam in his eye, I believed him. “I’ll manufacture nitroglycerine if I have to.”

“Nitro what?” Wasn’t that a wrestler?

“Dynamite,” he explained. “Actually…” he frowned.

“What?” I asked.

“It’s possible there is still some in the mines, they were finally closed off in the 1880s but they were literally just boarded up, not emptied out.”

“But they mined clay here, why would that need dynamite?”

“Because sometimes they had to go through a lot of rock to get to the clay.”

“Isn’t dynamite supposed to be really dangerous though?”

“It is,” he nodded. “But I would be careful. In fact…”

“What?”

“That could be our cover, unexploded nitroglycerine in the mines under the house will be blamed for the explosion.”

That was possible. Probable even. But I was pretty sure I remembered seeing something on TV that old sticks of dynamite could explode really easily and as angry as I was at that moment, I didn’t want him to die.

“Are you sure it’s safe?” I asked. He was the engineer so if he assured me it was safe, I would trust him.

“I’ll be as safe as I can be, darling, I have no desire to die.”

That would have to do.

***

The next day, armed with a claw hammer and torches, we visited the mines together and found three boxes of dynamite in a storage room. Thomas carefully pried the wooden lid off one and I could see that they were packed in hay.

“It looks good,” he told me. “It’s quite cool down here so it hasn’t sweated much.”

“Sweated?”

“Not much nitroglycerine has leaked.”

“And cold helps with that?” I asked him.

“Nitroglycerine freezes at 56 degrees, which makes it more stable. It’s when it thaws that you have a problem.”

I put my conversion hat on, that was about 13 degrees Celsius. Given the northern climate, there weren’t that many days a year where the outside temperature got above that, especially at this altitude and so far underground.

“So we can use this?” I asked, just to be sure.

“Not only can we, it’s in much better shape than I expected.”

“And is that enough?” I asked.

“More than enough.”

“And can you place it under the house?”

“There are two mine shafts that run directly under the house, plus the lift that goes up into the house. If I also place some in Mother’s hiding places, I can bring the whole structure down, and what doesn’t break will burn.”

“Don’t you mean ‘ _we_ can’?”

Thomas turned to me, directing his torch at my face.

“No. I’ve gone to a lot of time and trouble to save your life, Katherine, I’m not letting you risk it again.”

“But-”

“No ‘buts’,” he said, sounding angrier than I can remember. “This is not a discussion. I am going to destroy the house, but I will do it _my way_ , understood?”

“Thomas-”

“No, no arguments. Do you understand?”

He seemed genuinely distressed and I nodded, albeit reluctantly.

Thomas actually sighed with relief and put an arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer and pressing a kiss to my forehead. I didn’t even think to stop him because he had seemed so worried about me.

“Come on, let’s get back to the house,” I suggested.

***

We checked out of the hall a few days later, reasoning that it was better to leave and return. I brought Thomas home to my little house in Yorkshire, a cottage on the outskirts of a small village. It only had two bedrooms, a kitchen and a living room but at least both were a decent size, and the back porch was as large enough to double as a utility room. At the rear it had a walled garden with a small region of decking near the house, flower beds around the walls, and a tiny section of lawn in the centre. He seemed to love it.

I set him up in the spare room for now. I would rather have sent him off on his own but since I had brought him to this time, I felt a responsibility to look after him until he was acclimatised. At least, that’s why I told myself I was keeping him around.

In truth, I knew I would forgive him eventually and it was taking all my willpower to maintain my distance from him, but I couldn’t let myself love him again until I knew for certain that he could be trusted.

While I worked on my articles and usual website activity during the day, Thomas spent his time devising a remote control detonation device for the dynamite, using my Amazon account to order most of what he needed. Remote control technology fascinated him and he ordered a few different toys that used it, taking them apart so he could see how they worked.

He tried to explain his plans to me but I could only understand it in the most basic terms; science and engineering are not among my strengths.

When he wasn’t working on his plan to demolish his family home, he helped me around the house and was always eager to please, going the extra mile to make me smile. When he made a pot of tea, he always included a biscuit for me on the tray. When he walked to the village shop, he always brought something back for me. Sometimes he bought me a little something from the shop, sweets or a drink he thought I’d like, other times he would bring me back a flower he had spotted on his walk.

It would have been so easy to just forgive him and take him back. He was so solicitous, so charming, and so considerate that it was sometimes hard to remember that he had betrayed me.

To his credit, he never pressed for more, although he did grin ridiculously every time I thawed a little more towards him.

I maintained an emotional distance however, and kept our relationship platonic… It’s totally normal to watch a movie with your head in your male friend’s lap while he strokes your hair, right?

Oh, who was I kidding? Thomas was like a drug and I was having trouble maintaining a safe distance from him. Luckily for my battered heart, I am also a stubborn bitch when I want to be so although some barriers I had erected broke down, no way was I taking him back until the house and the ingot were history.

The second one was actually far easier to accomplish, and with the metal ingot in hand we took a day trip to an iron foundry (Thomas told me it was made from iron, not lead as I had assumed). Thomas explained to the foreman that it was an heirloom that held very bad memories for us and asked them to melt it down. An odd story (for an odd relic, come to that) but the foreman agreed thanks to Thomas’s charm, and they even allowed us to watch as it was added to the furnace and melted down, blending with the other molten metal.

I imagined it issued an odd sort of scream as it melted down, a little like the whistle on an old kettle, but higher pitched and quieter, although no one else seemed to hear it.

I felt a little easier as we left because Thomas hadn’t once hesitated to destroy it. Maybe he really was on my side after all.

***

It was 5am and I waited by the fire alarm for Thomas’s signal to pull it. We’d had a busy night all ready and after a visit to the mine,

we had stolen a set of keys and placed sticks of dynamite into all of his mother’s hiding places that we knew about. Thomas had carefully selected only dynamite that wasn’t ‘sweating’ and therefore was safest. I’m still not entirely sure why, but sweating dynamite is dangerous.

After that we had visited the basement and partially severed the gas lines, then closed the doors so the gas would slowly fill the room down there.

Thomas had then returned to the mines, where we had placed the remainder of the explosives around the tunnels and in the lift shaft, which although blocked off, wasn’t bricked up and would carry the force of the explosion through the building, setting off the other charges we had placed, and reducing the whole structure to burning rubble.

Once he had set up the radio activated detonator, I was supposed to pull the fire alarm to make sure the place was evacuated, then we would both meet at a safe distance and set off the explosion.

I was wearing black jeans, jumper, coat, gloves and even a balaclava. The colour was so that I wasn’t easily visible at night and the mask so that no one could recognise me if I was seen. I felt like a pantomime villain though, dressed the part but doomed to fail through ineptitude. The longer I wanted, the more certain I became that something had gone wrong.

It was gone 5 o’clock in the morning and it wouldn’t be long until staff would begin arriving for the day, to get breakfast started, prepare newspapers to be left outside of various rooms, man the reception and check the restaurant was ready. If Thomas didn’t call me soon, I was afraid someone was going to turn up and find me.

I checked my phone again, just to be sure I hadn’t missed a call.

I’d bought us both cheap burner phones, so what if I’d programmed the numbers incorrectly and he was trying to call but couldn’t? What if he’d had an accident? What was I going to do if he was hurt, I could hardly call an ambulance while we were in the middle of committing a crime. What if one of the sticks of dynamite had gone off before he’d placed them?

What if, what if, what if!

I was sweating, my clothing was great for outdoors but not so good for being indoors and in full on panic mode.

Then, as if by a miracle, my phone vibrated and I looked down at the screen. I had a text which read “On my way, see you soon.”

That was our code for pull the alarm and run like hell, which I did, pausing only to open the basement door and free the built up gas (that smell was sure to get people exacuating, then I ran out through a fire exit and towards the closest trees.

Once there I paused to look back, just to make sure people were leaving and they were. I watched and waited until the flow of people dropped from a flood to a trickle, then stopped all together. We had checked the occupancy and although I did my best to count the heads that had assembled in the garden, they were milling around and I couldn’t be 100% sure I hadn’t counted some people twice. The longer we waie though, the greater the chance people might try to go back in, so we had to chance it. I texted to say ‘see you soon,’ our code for ‘blow it to smithereens.

Seconds later I heard the first boom and the ground trembled. Evidently others had heard and felt it too, and they moved even further away from the building. That one bang was quickly joined by others which built to a crescendo, then cracks could be heard as the structure of the building weakened, then flames erupted from the house as it began to crumble.

People were screaming and thick red tinged smoke filled the air as I watched in awe while the house collapsed in on itself.

A scent of sulphur hung heavy in the acrid smoke, polluting the air around it, and I felt as though I could literally see the evil burning.

The explosions must have weakened the mining tunnels and moments later, the house fell into them, although the flames were shooting easily fifty feet into the air from the crater

As much as I wanted to wait around and witness the destruction, I knew I had to leave before the authorities arrived, so I headed for the meeting point Tom and I had arranged.

Truth be told, he hadn’t wanted to bring me, but he couldn’t drive and it was too risky to take public transport here, so he’d had little choice. I’d got the safe job though, of pulling the fire alarm.

Thomas was waiting for me in a little clearing he had first shown me when we toured the grounds. I pulled my mask off as I approached and fell into his embrace, hugging him tightly.

“Are you alright?” we both asked at the same time as we pulled away.

“I’m fine,” I assured him, knowing he wouldn’t answer me until he was satisfied that I was okay.

“Me too,” he assured me.

We both looked back towards the flames, which were lighting up the night sky, and I rested my head against his shoulder while we watched.

“I can't believe you actually did it,” I murmured softly.

“I never liked that house,” he confessed as he tightened his embrace. “I felt responsible for it but it was like a millstone around my neck. For the first time in my life I feel… free.”

He placed a finger under my chin to encourage me to look at him, which I did. “I swear I never will.”

Slowly, almost hesitantly, he lowered his head and I closed my eyes, anticipating our first kiss in over three weeks. It was soft at first, gentle, and Thomas let out the most contented sigh that I have ever heard.

The kiss quickly turned passionate, but even after so long apart we both knew this wasn’t the time or place. We had a long walk back to where we left the car, down a country lane, and we needed to get started.

***

By the time we got back to my little cottage we were both exhausted and wanted nothing more than to collapse into bed. I knew we couldn’t though, not yet, because we both smelled heavily of the smoke that had hung in the air. I ordered Thomas to shower first while I took his clothes and started a wash, stripping my own clothes off in the utility room. Our coats were a little harder but I liberally doused them in Febreze to get rid of the scent and hung them in the porch cum utility room, leaving the back door open a crack to allow a breeze in.

There was a real nip in the air and I hopped from foot to foot while I waited outside the bathroom for Thomas to be done in the shower, and luckily he finished quickly.

“Is there anything I can do?” he asked as he came out, hair damp and wrapped in a cosy dressing gown.

“You need to burn your sketches and notes in the wood burner.”

He nodded and I dashed into the bathroom. I scrubbed quickly, washing my hair, then braiding it so it didn’t dry like a bird’s nest while I slept.

I might have been a little paranoid about the smell, but I would rather be paranoid unnecessarily than lax. It wouldn’t do to have the police turn up on our doorstep, perhaps having had a report of my car in the area, and smelling both Thomas and I reeking of the sulphuric smoke from the blaze. I’d also stopped in at an automatic car wash on our way home, to wash the mud from the country lane off, and paying in cash so there was no record of the transaction.  

When I emerged from the shower, Thomas had made tea and we sat at the kitchen table to drink it.

“How do you feel?” I asked him.

“Relieved,” he answered without hesitation. “I was used to the house but there’s no denying that it, as you might say, freaked me out. There are parts of the house I hated visiting but I confess, I feel far more relieved that I expected to. I feel as though a weight has been lifted from my shoulders.”

“I know what you mean,” I smiled tiredly at him. We had taken a nap in the afternoon yesterday but we hadn’t slept for long as it was unnatural for us both. “Come on, let’s get some shut eye,” I suggested, finishing my mug and standing up.

Thomas followed suit and I took his hand and led him to my bedroom.

“Are you sure?” he asked me as I closed the door.

“Well I’m not up to much yet,” I said with a wry smile, “But yeah, I’m sure.”

“I know it may be hard to believe, Katherine, and I have a lot of work to do to earn back your trust, but I want you to know that you will always come first with me. Always.”

I was so relieved, and maybe just a tad overemotional after the night we’d had, that I felt tears pricking my eyes.

“I believe you,” I said, because I did; my intuition told me he wasn’t lying.

“Can you ever forgive me, darling?”

“I’ll try my hardest but you have to believe me, Thomas, if you ever lie to me again, there won’t be any third chances.”

“Understood.”

We removed our robes and slipped into opposite sides of the bed, meeting in the middle. We kissed gently but neither of us was alert enough for sex right now, and by unspoken agreement we snuggled into each other.

“Thank you,” Thomas murmured as we settled.

“I love you,” I answered without thinking.

“And I you, my darling.” The arm around me tightened to emphasise his point.

Maybe it was Thomas, or maybe it was because I was so tired, but I couldn’t remember the last time I’d slept so well.

***

**Epilogue**

The blaze made headlines around the country and once the fire was out, the news stations had aerial footage of the site, which showed that the house was little more than a scorched crater now.

There had been three minor injuries from flying debris caused by the explosion, but no deaths, which was a relief to us both.

Speculation was rife as to the cause. A gas leak was one suggestion, because many people had smelt it as they exited the building. Surprisingly, old dynamite from the mine was another possible reason given. I thought it would take them longer to suspect that but evidently one journalist had done his research and found out that the house was built over a mine.

I didn’t know much about arson investigations but it was obvious from what had been seen and heard that something had exploded, I just hoped they would rule it accidental and not intentional. Could they tell the cause in this case? Ordinarily they could, but with the house now little more than ash in a crater, maybe not. If they could, it seemed fairly obvious it would be ruled an accident, because no one used dynamite these days, it was too dangerous.

Thomas and I kept our heads down, got on with life and muddled through as best we could. I finally took a pregnancy test and, surprise surprise, it was positive, so I went to my GP. Thomas insisted on coming with me to all my appointments. I think he cleaned Waterstone’s pregnancy and baby section out, and he read voraciously, determined to be a good dad.

After three months, we auctioned off the first batch of Thomas’s mother’s jewellery; we had decided to sell everything in dribs and drabs so as not to draw too much attention to ourselves. He didn’t have proof of ownership but then I doubted that anyone had receipts for Victorian jewellery. The important thing was that none of it had been reported stolen and he could tell the auction house where or when most of it had been made, so they didn’t question his assertion that they were family heirlooms.

With a very decent cushion of money behind us now, I purchase a stolen Australian passport for him on the dark web, which Thomas used to register for residency in this country. Since he had ample funds behind him, the government weren’t too bothered and allowed him a visa. Our marriage licence was slightly harder but as Australia is part of the commonwealth, not too difficult.

We married one month before the baby arrived in a small ceremony at the registry office. We invited only a few friends and family, mainly because we didn’t want to face too many questions but also because Thomas didn’t have friends and family in this century. Our reception was in a nice restaurant, nothing so expensive as to raise awkward questions but equally, not too cheap.

My mother and brother came. They loved Thomas, as did most people we met, and they were happy for me. They asked why he didn’t have an Australian accent (he used a fake one when we were interviewed by immigration, but not in everyday life) and he explained that his parents had been English, and he had picked up their speech patterns over his school friends’ Australian drawl.

It still troubled me that he could lie with such ease, but no one ever seemed to question his truthfulness, so I pushed such qualms aside.

Thomas was working as an inventor and used some of the money from the sale of his mother’s antique jewellery to fund a prototype for a new, energy efficient washing machine, which filtered and reused 90% of its water, as well as reducing power consumption by half.

He already had a few firms interested, and rather than go into manufacturing he intended to sell a licence to make his patent, and earn royalties on their sales. He worried that people investing in him would do too through a background check and might discover that his identity was fake. This way they would only check into his technology, not the man himself.

And honestly, inventing was his passion. Although I could see him as a CEO, I couldn’t picture him happy in that role.

I had to cut back on my holidays and visiting hotels for travel reviews, and instead I took on more writing for publications and websites. My travel knowledge was still top notch and I could write on almost any topic, from ‘10 Places to See Before You Die’, to ‘European Cycling Holidays’. My blog and work were well known enough that I was easily able to get an agent who helped keep the work rolling in. Because of the personality I injected into my blog, she even got me a publishing offer for a book of first person accounts of some of my travels, sort of a female Bill Bryson, and I was very happy to accept.

Things were settling down and I was adapting to my new situation in life, but my tension grew as my due date approached, not because I worried about the labour or because I thought the demon spawn would eat its way out of me or anything, I worried about something much more fundamental. Would I be able to love her?

Thomas had tried to reassure me, after all he had loved Lucille and to an extent, even after everything she had done, he still did, so he had no qualms about being able to love the baby. I couldn’t be that certain, and nothing he could say would assuage my fears.

My concerns were answered after a 6 hour labour (one of the easiest the midwife had ever witnessed for a first baby, she said) and as they placed her in my arms, I knew immediately. I loved her.

Once I put her to breast, I knew that I loved her enough to lay life down for her, and I would do whatever it took to make sure she had a good childhood.

Thomas was also smitten, gazing adoringly at us both as we lay in bed, recovering.

He doted on me for the first few days, until I had to tell him that he was smothering me a little. He backed off but was never far away when I needed him.

We called her Felicity.

We turned Thomas’s old bedroom into her nursery, decorating it ourselves, using bright colours that made Thomas positively gleeful. As elegant as Allerdale Hall had been, it was also rather dark and forbidding, so I could understand his enthusiasm for pastels and bright colours.

Shopping for baby things though, was almost as bad as when we had first gone food shopping. Thomas was amazed by the choices on offer, for everything from clothing to toys. We usually left the store with far more than we needed. We had three papooses, for example, although I doubted I would even use one. However it wasn’t as if we were short of money these days. We weren’t Bill Gates-rich, but Thomas had already sold the rights to two inventions, and we had the money from the jewellry auction.

When we brought Felicity home I nearly took the baby monitor back to the shop because we never use it. We were both enamoured with the little redheaded beauty that had entered our lives.

Don’t get me wrong, we were both exhausted, often grouchy, and covered in baby sick, but it was more than worth it.

To my surprise, we did use one papoose often, because Thomas insisted on ‘wearing’ Felicity whenever he could. He was besotted with his daughter and insisted on taking her to the local mother and baby group every week, held in the village hall. He was _very_ popular with the other mums, let me tell you!

He never gave me a second’s reason to doubt him or feel jealous though.

We often took it in turns with Felicity, which gave us both a chance to work in peace. Thomas did Tuesday and Thursday mornings, I had Monday and Friday mornings. She generally slept in the afternoon, and we shared he other three days, then Thomas did bed times, while I did the mornings.

I had to work hard to truly forgive Thomas for what he had done and not keep holding it over his head in any disagreement, but I did my best and I got better with time. Every morning I reminded myself that he had lied in order to save my life and I had chosen, of my own free will, to invite him back into my life after I found out. I didn’t have to stay with him, I was free to leave any time I wanted, but I chose to stay, and resenting him for my own choice ridiculous. I also made gratitude lists, reminding myself of how Thomas encouraged me, supported me, was kind to me, and still blew my mind in the bedroom.

My tactics helped a lot and I slowly let go of my resentment towards him, but these days I always listened to my intuition. Luckily Thomas hasn’t given me a reason to doubt his integrity again.

The truth is that aside from some odd foibles (mostly caused by having been raised in a different time) Thomas was about as perfect as it was possible to be. Yes, I still had my doubts occasionally, because this was surely too good to be true, but Thomas could always tell when I was getting lost in my own doubts and fears, and he would coax me out of my mood, reassuring me and caring for me, determined not to let my worries overshadow our marriage and our family.

“Darling, are you nearly ready?” he asked, poking his head into our room. Felicity, who was sitting on his hip, gurgled in greeting.

“Nearly,” I had just sat down to put my shoes on. “You know, it kind of negates the point in hiring a nanny if you walk around with your daughter while she’s here.”

She only worked three days a week, Wednesday, Saturday, and Thursday evening, allowing us time alone so we could focus on each other. I had been doubtful but Thomas had been insistent, and I now agreed that these little interludes did wonders for us, both in terms of our relationship, and in just being able to relax and destress for a time. Of course, it had taken is two months and too many candidate to count, before we found someone we were happy with. Mrs Farrell was wonderful and Felicity certainly seemed taken with her.

It was Thomas, who had suggested this, who seemed to resent her being there, even if only very slightly. I found it endlessly amusing.

“There,” I said, standing once the last strap of my shoe was done. “Will I do?” I was in a stretch burgundy velvet, A-line dress, which came to mid-calf and skimmed my (still overly full) curves.

“You look stunning,” he said, smiling so proudly at me that I believed him.

Felicity gurgled her agreement and I took her from Thomas so I could say goodbye.

“You’ll be a good girl for Mrs Farrell, won you?”

“Goo ba!”

“Good girl,” I pressed a kiss to her head, then rubbed my cheek against her baby soft hair. Everything about her was so cute and soft and silky, that she seemed entirely designed to be held and kissed and caressed.

Thomas came up and put his arms around both of us.

“My girls,” he said softly.

I almost didn’t want to go, thinking how much nicer it would be to curl up on the sofa and watch a movie, with me lying on Thomas and Felicity lying on me.

But the table was booked and the nanny was here. Maybe tomorrow night.

Right now though, as I snuggled closer to Thomas and inhaled deeply, I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I’d made the right decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINISHED! Yay. Just in time for the film to make it AU.


End file.
